


SINF Tumblr Fic Compilation

by alittleshitwithfeels



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel - Michael Scott
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Dee's Confused Boner, Mac and Dee do inappropriate things in inappropriate places, Multi, aten is a fucking creep, bc i can do what i want, dagon's a trans dude, fish-folk are agender, lotta poly ships, sometimes, then again u can never have too many
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-25 21:07:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 86
Words: 29,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3825082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittleshitwithfeels/pseuds/alittleshitwithfeels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finally all of my Tumblr fics in one convenient place! Embark on a magical journey that starts off simple (like with one ship) before completely exploding, flinging every ship under the sun around!</p><p>Chapter titles include the prompt in question and the ship.</p><p>More tags will be added as needed</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Colorless, Machiabilly

It took him far too many years (centuries, even) to see what he was doing.  
And he didn’t even see it himself.

He had always seen the world as a large chessboard with pieces ripe for manipulation.  
In smarter moments, he remembered he was as much of a piece as anyone else.

Then Billy crashed into his life.  
The cowboy disregarded the chessboard. In fact, he knocked it over.

During that moment, Machiavelli had realized he had never  _lived._  
Billy the Kid was a splash of color on a wrongly perceived monochrome world.

And now his splash of color was fading.   
Dying.

The sharpshooter’s crimson blood was soaking the politician’s charcoal pants. His vibrant face was rapidly losing color.

 _They_  wouldn’t let him save Billy.  
But  _they_ weren’t here currently.

 _‘Even my aura is dull…’_  He mused, as dirty-white tendrils lifted from his skin. Something so bland didn’t seem like it would revitalize anything, especially not something as bold as Billy the Kid. 

Even so, he let his aura pour into Billy, even when it started to feel like he was skinning himself alive. Blood dripped from his nose and mouth as the effort took its toll on his internal organs.

Abruptly, he realized he was being pulled away from Billy. He wasn’t strong enough to resist, but his rapidly fading aura was still being siphoned into the cowboy.

_'Good.'_

“Niccolò, you need to stop.”

 _'Nicholas.'_ It was at this point the Italian realized he couldn’t make out any of the colors that were supposed to be on the alchemist’s face. His shock was enough to sever the link and he slumped forward, exhausted. 

He started slipping into unconsciousness and hoped he had given enough.


	2. Acceptance, Machiabilly

The first few months he spent trying to disappear.  
Machiavelli was too busy to mourn.

Then he settled down comfortably in Canada and was forced to face the music.

Niccolò found out eventually (though he had always assumed) that Dee died that turning point. The Italian was no physicist, but that’s how he had taken to referring to that day; it wasn’t the same day but it marked the same event.

Black Hawk had been flung out to sea and drowned.

Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel died the end of that month without The Codex.

Then there was Billy, who died before that day ended.  
That death hurt the most.  
He finally had a friend (and maybe he started to love the cowboy a little bit) only to have it violently ripped from him.  
He was finally shown how he was just surviving and now he was left alone to figure out how to live.

But despite all this, Machiavelli just slid neatly into the acceptance stage of things. That was the most logical and convenient thing to do.

Sure he had lost a friend.  
And a colleague.  
And two-possible friends.  
And was now left alone, because everyone who survived had their own cross to bear.

But he was fine.  
Really.

Even if he sometimes curled into his mattress sobbing because Billy would want him to live  _but dammit he didn’t know how to._  
He just knew how to survive. How to keep his own hide safe.

But he was fine.

Even if he thought bitterly of those other survivors.  
They had to cope too, but at least they had someone to cope with.

But he was fine.  
Perfectly fine.  
Acceptance means you’re okay. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Mac is apparently an actual physicist.
> 
> Didn't know that at the time.


	3. Forget, Machiabilly

Billy traced Machiavelli’s skin idly, nose wrinkled against the smell of smoke in the air. It had been odd when he found out the Italian had a thing for post-coital cigarettes…. Well, cigarettes and smoking in general actually.

_“It’s a habit that I do not have more often than I do.” Niccolò had said at the time. “Besides I think I deserve it. I did help save quite a few people.”_

_“The world, Mac. We helped save the world.” Billy had replied._

Smoke curled upward, reaching for the ceiling and Billy couldn’t help but think on his love’s aura. But no, the comparison was only basic; Mac had a lighter grey. And it hovered on his skin until he struck out.

Machiavelli had no unnecessary movements, so neither did his aura.

The source of the smoke changed locations as the politician stubbed out the cigarette. He curled against Billy and the outlaw wrapped an arm around him.

It was so easy to forget they were currently running for their lives in moments like these.


	4. Don't Fucking Touch Me, Machiavelli & Nicholas

Nicholas crouched down beside Machiavelli, ignoring the protests of his aged joints. He reached out to pat the other man’s back in a comforting gesture.

“Don’t fucking touch me, Flamel.”

The alchemist recoiled like he’d been burnt. He never knew the Italian to be one for cursing… or snapping at all for that matter. Dee had been the one for outbursts, not Niccolò. 

“I’m sorry.”

The Italian gave a choked snicker. “I have a dead body in my lap and all you say is ‘I’m sorry’?”

“Ni-”

“Shut the fuck up," Machiavelli snapped in Italian. "I could’ve saved him.”

“At the expense of yourself. And we don’t even know if that would’ve saved Billy. It’s hard to repair a gaping hole in a torso.”

“I should’ve tried regardless.”

Nicholas sighed. “And raise the casualties by one?”

“Yes!” The alchemist blinked at the conviction. “At least then him and I would both be dead! It’s only been a couple of days and this idiot had me betraying masters I’ve had since the Renaissance!” Machiavelli paused, fighting tears. “My whole life’s been up-heaved and now I have to mourn too?" 

"And if he had lived after your sacrifice?”

“Billy deserves life far more than I do.”

Nicholas read him with an ease that made the politician sick and stood up.

“Don’t do anything rash, far too many have died.”

Machiavelli combed Billy’s hair silently. He had his semi-public breakdown, time to go back to keeping his cards close to his chest.

“Goodbye, Flamel.”


	5. Social Media, Machiabilly

Billy stumbled, yawning, out of his room in their shared apartment and passed Niccolò who was focused on something on his laptop.

“Finally recovered from your paranoia of using the internet?" 

The Italian sniffed indignantly. "It was, is, a completely founded concern.”

“Mhm, then why are you on now?”

“I’ve made it so our wifi is as untraceable as possible.”

Billy chuckled as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “Right. So what are you up to? Checking the news?”

“Something along those lines. Niten and Aoife are now married, shame I completely missed it.”

The outlaw furrowed his brow, took his coffee, and plopped down beside Machiavelli on the couch.

“You said you were checking the news, not stalking people on Facebook. Besides, how are you even friends with them?”

“News is news, whether it is from Facebook or a news site. And I make unassuming accounts or just hack my way in to keep track of others.” The Italian retorted, switching to another one of his Facebook tabs.

Billy noted that there were three Facebook tabs, three Twitter tabs, and a… Tumblr tab?

“Why the hell do you have a Tumblr?”

“It’s for leisure. Why are you surprised?” Honestly, he just stated he made their wifi untraceable and the fact he has a Tumblr freaks the cowboy out.

“You’re, like, fifty, Mac.”

“545, Billy. But do continue.”

“You know what I mean, you ass, but anyway. Only people in their twenties or younger have a Tumblr. Besides you’re too…”

Machiavelli raised an inquisitive, yet threatening, eyebrow.

“…Sophisticated.” The cowboy finished, taking the safest answer.

“You mean old-fashioned.”

“Maybe?”

The Italian sighed. “You do realize you’re just projecting a stereotype onto me, correct? I may be old, but I was a part of the Renaissance and am a humanist. Social media is the 21st century equivalent of meeting in a random shop and discussing. I have an account on just about every social platform there is.”

“MySpace?”

“Yes. I even have a Friendster.”

“Damn.”

Machiavelli smirked. “You’re lucky you’re cute, because even after that I’m going to make you breakfast.”

He closed his browser and went to stand while Billy grinned at him.

“Thanks, Ma- Since when have you had a League of Legends account?” Billy asked, suddenly back to being bewildered.

“October 30th, 2009.”


	6. Puppy Love, Machiabilly

“Dee, I was just supposed to have a crush on him.”

“And now you’re getting married; funny how that happens.” The magician replied, straightening Machiavelli’s tie.

“I don’t think I can do this.”

Dee sighed and rubbed his temples. “Niccolò, you’ve faced Perenelle Flamel; I think you can handle marrying Billy the Kid.”

“I lost that fight, you know.”

The Englishman contemplated whether he should just send someone else in to talk this idiot down.  _‘No, he’ll just wiggle his words to convince everyone else that this is a horrible idea.’_  

“You nearly gave her a run for her money, so I still believe you can walk down an aisle and get married.”

The Italian squirmed and still looked rather unconvinced. “What if I ruin it?”

“You’re too smart to do that. And you love him too much.”

“Are you certain?”

“ 'Where the willingness is great, the difficulties cannot be great.’ You recognize that one, don’t you?”

Machiavelli sighed, then cracked a smile. “Why do my quotes keep being used against me?”

“They’re very good quotes, to be honest.” Dee smiled. “Go. Don’t keep your fiance waiting.”

“ _Grazie._ ”


	7. Tongue-tied, Machiabilly

“Have you told him yet?”

Machiavelli raised an eyebrow at the immortal across from him. “Told who what?”

Dee snorted before taking a sip of coffee. The two men were seated at a table in a cafe that had a rather scenic view. “Must I spell it out for the  _great_  Machiavelli?” The Italian shot him a glare. “I’m talking about Billy, Nico.”

Niccolò huffed. “John, you’re being so very specific. I’m personally very disappointed in myself for not knowing what you’re talking about. Also, are three syllables too much for you?”

“We’ve known each other for centuries and I haven’t killed you; I think I’ve earned the right to refer to you by a nickname.” Dee replied flippantly. “And I’m referring to your very obvious love for Billy.”

Machiavelli turned a rather pale shade, but his expression didn’t change. Dee smirked regardless.

“As if you could actually kill me, Dee.”

“Someone’s trying to avoid the question.” The magician sing-songed.

The Italian grit his teeth and attempted to hide it behind a sip of coffee.

“You are mistaken, doctor.”

“Am I really?” Dee replied with mock surprise. “Last time I checked, nearly killing yourself to save someone else professed some type of love.”

Niccolò blinked in surprise before schooling his expression. “How did you-?”

“You’re not the only one who can keep tabs on others.” John sighed, disposition softening. “You nearly burned your aura out for that man; you’re in love, Nico.”

Machiavelli let his guard drop, responding to Dee’s cue. “ _Fine,_  but John…. I can’t.”

The magician rolled his eyes. “You’re in love with another immortal; this isn’t going to end up the way it did with your wife.”

“Yes it will. Except I’m not going to be the one watching the funeral.” He glanced away. “Billy is still at that age where he enjoys immortality. I’m 545, I’m ready to go.”

“You can’t pine until you figure out how to die. Tell him, Nico.”

Machiavelli scoffed. “And have the possibility that he doesn’t reciprocate? Or worse, that he does? No. Staying silent is the best for both of us.”

“I highly doubt that!” John snapped. 

“Like you would know! You caused the Great Fire of London and the Great Famine in Ireland! I’m not going to trust your advice on delicate matters!”

“I’ve been in love before, Machiavelli! Virginia and I were going to get married! And even though our relationship failed, we’re still friends. Your wife took your children. I think I have more authority than you!”

The Italian bolted up out of his seat, the barest hints of snake tinting the air. “I’m not telling Billy anything, _Dee._ ” He turned to storm away, tears stinging his eyes.

“Fine! But maybe you should try and live your last few decades!”

Niccolò paused and John was hopeful under his frustration, but then Niccolò just continued out of the cafe.


	8. Grinding, Machiabilly

It was strange, Billy thought. And not for the fact he was currently grinding his hips into those of  _the_  Niccoló Machiavelli, who, among other things, was about 400 years older than him. It was the fact they were both fully clothed and on a couch, but he didn’t feel like a horny teenager. Or a drunk adult.

This time it felt strangely intimate.

There was no rush, no frenzy. He didn’t feel like he was just here as friction. 

Maybe it was the way Mac rolled his hips slowly, cautiously; he was almost hesitant.   
Maybe it was the way he kissed. He kissed with utmost care, lips soft and pliant. Billy could feel every movement those lips made and so knew this wasn’t possible, but sometimes it felt like Niccoló was whispering prayers or promises against his lips.

It was all too romantic for dry humping on a couch.

It was strange, Billy thought, but perfect.


	9. Irresistible, Dee/Machiavelli

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first Dee/Mac ficlet! 
> 
> Think this may mark the moment where the ships kinda started going all over the place.

Dee didn’t know how the hell this happened. He was arguing with that Italian bastard, auras flaring, and then things went downhill. Usually he wouldn’t constitute a very furious makeout session on a desk as a negative result. But  _it was Niccolò Machiavelli._  

At least the pompous ass was the one pinned on the table.

The magician broke away with a smirk. “One-upped you, Niccolò!”

Machiavelli started struggling, dirty white aura blazing and teeth bared. “Get off me, before I-!” His threat was cut off by a groan. John gave a pleased snicker and gave Nico’s crotch another rub with his thigh.

“Never thought you’d be excited to see me, Nico.”

Shooting daggers at Dee, Machiavelli hooked a leg around him in a mildly startling feat of flexibility and drew him flush against his body. “Never thought you’d be excited to see me,  _John_." 

Dee took out his frustrations by sucking at a spot right under the politician’s jawline. A move which Niccolò responded to by forcibly ripping apart the magician’s shirt and biting his neck and collarbone.

"That was my favorite shirt.”

“Why do you think I ruined it?”

Machiavelli forced Dee into another bruising kiss and neatly switched their positions. He then slid off the Englishman before straightening his slightly rumpled suit. “Good luck getting out of here without drawing attention.”

Dee gaped, angry with himself. That hickey was hardly noticeable unless one was looking for it.

Niccolò smirked and started striding away. “Amateur.”


	10. Bite, Dee and the Morrigan

Dee’s back hit the concrete pillar with stunning force. He was fairly certain his back was now severely bruised and he couldn’t waste the strength to heal it. Goddammit he didn’t have time for this.

“Get off me, Morrigan.”

The goddess bared her teeth and pressed harder. “I think you’re forgetting your place, John.”

“Think? How mild.”

The smell of ammonia and chalk filled the air of the already musty parking garage. Dee suddenly found it incredibly hard to breathe with the Elder’s armored arm pressing on his chest.

“I made you, have some respect.” She growled. Dee twitched in a manner that suggested a snicker.

“Or what?” He croaked. “My masters… are more powerful… than you.”

“I could teach you how to respect your elders. I always wanted a pet.”

“I highly doubt… my masters… would appreciate that.”

Now it was the Morrigan’s turn to snicker. “Do you think they really give that much of a shit? You’re a dog, doctor; dogs belong on leashes.”

“I really… do not have… the time… for your… BDSM… fantasies.”

She drew her nails along the side of Dee’s face, leaving behind scarlet trails. Then she let him go.

“All bark and no bite, eh Morrigan?” Dee sneered, barely resisting the urge to rub his chest.

“Don’t think this is over, John.”


	11. Fever, Virginia/Scathach with Machiavelli

Scathach had always felt animosity toward Machiavelli, not helped by the fact his chauffeur dragged her into a river. And even though she knew of what he did on Alcatraz, she still didn’t have warm, fuzzy feelings toward him.

She did, however, have a new found respect for Virginia Dare and found she liked her quite a lot. They paired off naturally when they got home, a week after they left. 

Josh, Marethyu rather, even had the care to greet them. He got them up to speed regarding what happened on Alcatraz and even gave Virginia Niccolò’s address.

Both of the women mentally stored the address then proceeded to get an apartment and start healing.

“We should check on him.” Virginia declared one day while putting up dishes.

Scathach raised an eyebrow, sliding a knife back into the knife block. “Who?”

“Machiavelli.”

It’d been two weeks since they got back and in that time they’d never mentioned the Italian. Scatty paused in her work. “Why?”

Virginia seemed not to notice how abrupt and unexpected her idea was and continued casually putting dishes away. “It’s been a while since we’ve got back. He may need to talk.”

“It’s been two weeks, Gin.”

At this, Dare blinked and paused. “Well then a visit is well overdue. Though can you go? I need to take care of some things here.”

Scatty was rather unamused at the idea, but Virginia was rather stubborn and besides, Machiavelli had supposedly changed. “Alright.”

-

The vampire rapped her knuckles against Niccolò’s door and there was a mildly long delay before the door was opened. Scathach was briefly convinced she ended up at the wrong house.

The Italian answered the door in pajama pants that hung half-way off his bony hip and a tee that practically swallowed him. His eyes were bloodshot and ringed with dark circles and bags. He leaned partially on the door-frame, limbs twitching.  'Most dangerous man in Europe’ indeed.

“M-Machiavelli?”

Machiavelli glared. “What do you want?”

Scatty didn’t appreciate his tone and snapped out her reply. “Hostile already? I expected more out of the supposedly changed Machiavelli!”

He grit his teeth, but only for a few moments. His breathing grew shallow and quick. “Leave… now… or…-” His possible threat was cut short by a shooting pain in his chest. Niccolò clutched at his chest with unstable hands and fell forward.

Scathach caught him easily and felt her hostility vanish. What the hell happened? She carried him inside and laid him on his couch, feeling the heat radiating off him. 

She pulled out her phone to call 911 and while she talked with the operator she noticed the state of the house. There were empty bottles of caffeine tablets on counters and tables. Cans of energy drinks littered the same surfaces.

_‘Seems like your immortality ups your overdose threshold.’_

-

Machiavelli woke up to the beeping of a monitor. He felt… okay. Better than he had in weeks, honestly. He glanced over and was greeted by Virginia’s worried face. “Where’s Scathach?”

“Lunch run.”

Sensing the question on her mind, Niccoló started explaining. “Billy’s dead.”

“I know. Dee’s dead.”

“I know.” He paused. “I couldn’t stop seeing Billy’s face when I went to sleep.” Sometimes it was a smiling face, sometimes it was pale and lifeless. Some nights he watched Billy bleed and bleed and bleed and….

“I couldn’t stand it. For a while I just spread short naps throughout the day, but then that stopped working. So switched to forcing myself to stay awake using caffeine.”

Virginia seemed surprised at the openness and part of Machiavelli was surprised too, but well…. He was in a hospital after being seen at his weakest, might as well be honest.

“You nearly died, Nico. Did you think about that?”

“I’m 545, Virginia. I’m ready to go.” His logic at the time had been if he didn’t get to grow old, at least he’d get a downward spiral.

“Well you don’t get to leave us yet.” Scathach’s voice came from the doorway. She walked in and passed a bag to Virginia. “The doctor suggested for you not to be alone for sometime after your discharge.”

They cracked a smile at him. “Mind staying with us?”

Warmth spread in Machiavelli’s chest. “Not at all.”  
He was tired of being alone.


	12. First Kiss, Scathach/Machiavelli/Virginia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of the previous fic

After getting home from the hospital, Machiavelli tried to sleep the first night. Upon waking up at two in the morning with the ghost of blood on his hands, he resumed his previous philosophy that sleep is not needed.

Many a morning consisted of Virginia and Scatty coming downstairs to see Niccolò draped on the couch with a mug of black tea (the only source of caffeine in the apartment) pouring over some book.

Billy had positively influenced the man, softened his edges, but did not improve the man’s pride. He was strongly opposed to therapy and insistent that he could do it alone. Even though anyone with eyes could see he couldn’t.

Virginia was away on a business trip when things came to a very quiet head.

Machiavelli’s body finally forced him to go to sleep when he was reading on the couch and Scathach had closed her own eyes.

He jolted awake, Billy’s name on his tongue. Scatty slid awake at the noise and went to check on the Italian.

“Finally go to sleep, huh?” She asked, joining him on the couch as he drew himself close.

“For all the good that it’s done.” He muttered. “It’s been a month… I only knew him a couple days… I shouldn’t….”

Setting a comforting hand on his shoulder, Scathach shot him a sympathetic smile. “You fell hard and fast, Niccolò, and you watched him die. That’s supposed to hurt, and you don’t get over it quickly. But you have to open up to heal.”

The Italian sighed. “I don’t know where to start… I don’t just….”

“It’s okay. You and Virginia can talk tomorrow; she’s good at getting people to open up. But you need to sleep, so do you mind if I…?”

Machiavelli shook his head and Scathach pressed her lips to his.

Normally she didn’t need to have such contact to do her thing, but she was unloading a great amount of grief and pain from Niccolò. Enough to get him through the night.

He was asleep by the time she pulled away, dirty white wisps still on her lips.


	13. First Kiss, Dee and the Morrigan

Dee had officially decided that maybe this whole ‘work for Dark Elders’ thing was the absolute worst idea. Especially since a very high percentage of the Elders at least occasionally on that 'Dark’ side were either Tricksters or associated with trickster animals.

The Morrigan included.

“I think that collar looks great on you, doctor.” The Crow Goddess chirped, caressing the leather with one clawed hand while the other held the leash.

“Oh fu-!” His retort was cut short by a sharp tug of the aforementioned leash.

“Ah, ah.” She tutted. “Respect, my little pet. Everyone agreed you need to learn some.”

He ground out an “apologies” through gritted teeth.

“Apologies….?”

“Apologies,  _ma'am._ ” He spat.

She lit up. “I prefer mistress, but that’s a start.” The Elder tugged him forward into a kiss. “We’re going to have so much fun while your Italian friend searches for where the Flamels got off to.”

Snickering, she continued. “You know, so you can go and let them escape again. I’m starting to think you have a soft spot for at least one of them.”

Yeah, he was going to get the fuck away from all these Tricksters first chance he got.


	14. Blood, Scathach/Machiavelli/Virginia

It took a while, but Virginia, Niccolò, and Scathach found their lives neatly melted together. There were always bad days, but they found that old wounds were all well bandaged, at least.

Machiavelli drew an identity out of thin air and went back to doing what he did best: behind-the-scenes politics. Though this time he had a humanitarian edge that, paired with his cunning and ruthlessness, was terrifying for his opponents.

Soon there was enough money for Scathach to open up a little dojo.

After hours, all three of them went down and spared. Unfortunately, they had all been put through far too many life-or-death situations that when they all woke up their skills, light spars stopped being light.

On a good day, they only walked out with bruises.  
On okay days, they had to use their auras to heal broken bones.  
On shit days, they all had to chip in to clean up the blood.

Fortunately, while Machiavelli and Virginia had shit days most often, Scathach never did. She could take whatever was thrown her way (though she was surprised with the Italian’s skill the first time he really went at it) and toss back enough to be satisfying. 

The whole system worked well for them.


	15. Hold My Hand, Dee and the Morrigan

“Hold my hand.”

“Is the collar not enough for you? Do we have to add to my mortification?" Dee grimaced. "Machiavelli saw me in this, I’m never going to hear the end of it…”

Morrigan frowned. “You were so eager the first times we held hands, what’s changed?”

“I hardly call any hand-touching during an Awakening as hand-holding. Also now I absolutely despi-!” A leash tug cut him off. “Will you stop that!”

Giggling, the Goddess held out a hand. “Say please and hold my hand. Maybe I’ll stop.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Well then I guess I’ll just tug you around town. What would your Italian friend think?”

Goddammit. And he doesn’t get to be done with this until the Flamels pop up. The magician heaved a resigned sigh. “Please stop tugging on the leash.” He then slid a limp hand into hers.

“I’ll make a good pet out of you yet."


	16. Fading Away, Scathach/Machiavelli/Virginia

The trio got through 20 years in life definition perfect; which is to say, imperfect, but wonderfully so. Then things changed.

Machiavelli started complaining about a restless leg and would sleep on the couch when it started acting up. It acted up about once a month, then once every other week, then once a week, then it acted up every night. Scathach and Virginia worried about it, but trusted the Italian when he insisted it was only a mild annoyance.

His hours at work gradually increased. He missed dinner, then he started missing breakfast. He started working weekends. “Things are getting hectic,” he would explain.

Scathach and Virginia confronted him when he started regularly missing their sparing sessions.

“I told you, I’m just busy. I would love to make it, but I can’t.”

Virginia rolled her eyes. “And let me guess, you can’t tell us what’s keeping you.”

“Sorry. Government secrecy and-”

“I’m not going through this again, Nico. Prioritize well.”

The Italian flinched at the harshness, suddenly remembering his late-wife. This was always the part where he insisted he loved her, but he ‘had to do this’.

“I love y-!”

“Dee tried that. I react better to action.”

Scathach watched the exchange quietly. Niccolò couldn’t possibly be thick enough to think Virginia would let this go; he knew her history with having a relationship with Dee. Wait a minute.

“Machiavelli, what are doing?”

Both Virginia and Machiavelli blinked in surprise, though Machiavelli did answer.

“I don’t….”

“The sudden restless leg, the long hours, the fact you just made a social blunder. What are you trying to do?”

This was the part where if he wanted to fix this he would admit everything. “I can’t say.”

“Can’t or don’t want to?” Virginia chimed in.

“Please leave it be.”

Scathach stepped closer. “Not until you tell us what’s going on.”

The Italian grit his teeth. “I’m trying to help you!”

“By distancing yourself from us?!” Virginia snapped.

“Yes!” He snapped back before deflating. “I’m tired. I’m 568 and these past 20 years have been fantastic, but I… can’t….”

The two women deflated as well and pulled Niccolò into a hug.

“You don’t have to die alone.” Virginia murmured. “And I’m mildly insulted that you thought you had to protect us.”

“Apologies… I didn’t want to cause more grief.” Machiavelli whispered back, melting into the contact.

-

Machiavelli’s birthday present that year was a glass of apple juice containing double the amount of secobarbital that would kill a human.

Virginia and Scathach stayed close as he drifted off into a sleep he wouldn’t wake up from.


	17. Shackles, Dee/Machiavelli

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU where Virginia and Billy died and Dee and Machiavelli survived

In the aftermath, Dee and Machiavelli slammed together all too easily. They knew each other, knew exactly how to get under each other’s skin.

They had power over one another. The Italian abused this most often.

He didn’t have the power to save Billy, and then he didn’t have the power to bring the cowboy back.

He went off the handle, became all fire and rage. His silver-tongue became cold steel that was unafraid of cutting deep.

Dee didn’t intervene and accepted the abuse. He didn’t deserve control.

The Englishman shrank in himself, becoming not unlike what he used to raise from the dead: soulless husks who just waited for orders.

They were the worst for each other when the were in the service of the Dark Elders. But at least then both sides gave equal amounts of teeth.

Unwittingly, they both traded the oppression of their Dark Masters for the shackles of guilt.

_How could all the good people die?  
_ _How could we, evil’s posterchildren, be the ones to survive?  
_ _We gave too little, too late.  
_ _We killed them._


	18. Rhythm, Dee/Machiavelli

Their arguments had a standard tempo more often than not. One could have composed music that matched the rhythm of their back and forth.

They argued enough that their arguments were just banter and observers knew this well enough.

It was only when their arguments had no meter that one had to worry. When they were screaming over each other because a voice entered a measure too soon. When there were odd silences because a voice forgot it was supposed to come in there. And when it joins in, it is far too loud and toneless.

When a room smells like Hell as sulfur meets musky reptile.

When Dee’s aura is cold and snaps like ice.   
When Machiavelli’s aura blazes and crackles like fire.

Because then ice and fire combine to become water sliding down their skin and steam that chokes the room.

Then curses in every language are traded between every sharp kiss.  
Then they slam each other into walls or onto furniture in plays for dominance.

Then the floor is strewn with buttons and crimson drops.

Then they gain the illusion of rhythm within the deep scratches and deeper bites.

Then Dee leaves in a trench coat and Machiavelli leaves in a greatcoat.  
And they both look ashamed.


	19. Waiting and Separation, Dee/Virginia

“Virginia, what the hell did you do…?” Dee breathed, barely registering what he was seeing on his fiancé.

The woman in question casually tossed bloodstained clothing into the washer. “I killed my master.”

“Why?”

“I refuse to be a part of this. Now I’m free to do what I want with my power and immortality.”

Dee gaped and glanced around as if he were searching for an appropriate response. “You… Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

Virginia heaved a dark chuckle and turned to glare at her fiancé. “Oh yes! Because talking to you is so easy when you’re not home!”

“I told you I-!”

“Am busy. Yes I know. But I can’t keep doing this.” She gestured around. “This waiting! This constant string of ‘I’m busy’! We were going to get married, John!”

The Englishman blinked in confusion. “But we still are. The wedding is in two months.”

“After being pushed back since two years ago!” She sighed, rubbing her temples. “I’m ending this relationship. I can’t…. I’m not going to be tied down by someone who can’t even bother to come home.”

“Did you kill your master just to tell me this?”

“I’m not as dramatic as you. And I have decided to not be bound by those who couldn’t care less about me.” The Elders provided a way to achieve her goals, but she couldn’t stick around when their policies went against her own moral code.

Dee looked at the floor in attempt to process what he had just been told. Couldn’t care…. “But I love you, Virginia.”

She shook her head. “Not more than your ambition.”

“When are you leaving…?” He replied, not having any proof to counter her statement. 

“I’ll be back for some of my stuff tomorrow. Goodbye, Dee.”

He flinched at the sudden distance, but didn’t argue. Dare knew what she was doing; she knew how to take care of herself.

“I’ll miss you, Virginia.”

“I won’t take you long to get used to not seeing me. You already do it so well.”


	20. Bite and Throne, Marethyu and Virginia

She is revered as a deity in some local cultures, a forest goddess. A Mistress of Air in others.  
He is a barely known name, which suits him just fine. He is a shadow passing through lives to make sure things are unfold properly.

But she receives special attention because she is special.

She is no deity, no forest queen with a throne lurking deep within the forest’s grasp, but she embodies the lessons wildlife can teach. She knows the freedom of falcons, the wisdom of owls, the trickery of hares. She knows the life of spring, the oppression of summer, the relief of fall, and the bite of winter.

He keeps her alive throughout all her years so that she may teach others her lessons.

And, while she barely knows his face, she thinks of him as the shadow who taught her that you need not fear the night.


	21. Meant No Harm, Dee/Machiavelli

A quick flick of fire scorched a trail through Dee’s shirt and onto his skin from his right hip to his left shoulder. Despite all indicators that it was an inappropriate response, Dee smirked. (Though he was smart enough to step back)

“Touch a nerve, did I?” He sneered. “I take it I shouldn’t mention your late-wife when I have you against the wall, Nico?”

There was the briefest flash of something resembling shame in Machiavelli’s eyes before they hardened. “It would be best for you to shut up and leave. Now.” He ground out.

“Bad feelings there? What’d she do? Run off with another man?” Dee continued, seeing the cues to stay quiet and ignoring them.

Machiavelli remained quiet. His aura was no longer lingering just against his skin; it blazed around him in a method of warning similar to a rattlesnake’s tail. He let Dee continue running his mouth, which was still outlining possible relationship failures.

“Were you never at home? Did she hate that?” And Virginia’s face splashed into the forefront of Dee’s thoughts. He felt the floodgates open and was powerless to stop it. “Did you have the same argument with her every time you came home?”

Embers danced around Machiavelli’s hands along with tendrils of actual flame. Then it all dropped away as he noticed the faraway look in Dee’s eyes.

“Did she just up and leave with barely an explanation as to why and not a single thing you could’ve said would’ve stopped her?”

Machiavelli stepped forward and sat a hand on Dee’s shoulder. “At least she didn’t call you a monster beforehand.”

Dee blinked out of his daze and furrowed his brows at the softness he saw in Niccolò’s usually guarded eyes. 

“At least she didn’t take your children away from you. At least she’s still alive if you ever consider making amends.”

Although what was being said could be seen as an attempt to one-up even here, Dee found comfort in it. Yes, he could make amends with Virginia… when he had the time.

And then both men realized this was the first time there was any kindness between them. The moment hung in the air before they both moved to slot their lips together.

They kissed with an unfamiliar familiarity, unused to the tenderness. Maybe they were just using one another as substitutes for old lovers, but they appreciated what kind intimacy they could get.


	22. My Child, Scathach/Machiavelli/Virginia

“Mac, Virginia mentioned kids once. That does not act as invitation to adopt a cat.”

Machiavelli continued to gesture at the tortoiseshell cat asleep on the vet’s table. He found the poor boy bleeding heavily on his way out of work and brought him in for medical attention. “Scathach, he’s missing his left eye and right back leg. It’ll be hard for him to get adopted.”

Scatty sighed. “We can’t adopt a cat while Virginia is out of town.”

“I think it’ll make a great surprise.”

“You’ve already named it haven’t you?”

“No….” Scathach gave him a skeptical stare. “Yes.”

“What did you name it, Niccolò?” Scathach continued with the tone of an exasperated parent.

“Dee.” The cat had accepted Machiavelli picking him up, but still managed to have the ‘I am simply tolerating this’ face while purring and bleeding through Machiavelli’s suit; a thing that reminded him of John.

Scathach rolled her eyes with a smile. “Okay fine we’ll adopt Dee here. But I will adopt a dog first chance I get.”

Grinning, Machiavelli nodded. “Understood.”

Several months later the household welcomed the addition of an older blue merle Australian Shepherd named Billy.


	23. Under the Influence, Dee/Machiavelli

Machiavelli ran his fingers through Dee’s hair and braided it while Dee retched into a toilet. “I was unaware you were such a lightweight in relation to other immortals, Dee.”

“Weren’t you slurring and… stumbling earlier?” Dee snapped as best he could between heaves.

“Benefit of being late, I suppose." Machiavelli undid the braid before starting again. "Everyone is already drunk so I can get away with just acting the part. I like the drinks, I don’t like being drunk.” It was far too exposed for his tastes.

“Also… I am not a lightweight… I’ve been drinking for a while.”

“Why?”

“Because I know how to cut loose, Nico.” Dee replied finally sitting up and flushing the toilet. “We saved the goddamn planet and none of us died!” He bumped Machiavelli’s shoulder. “Celebrate. Make a mistake or two. Wake up feeling like you just got hit with a truck.”

Niccolò quirked an eyebrow. “You’re starting to sound like Billy. Also am I supposed to want to wake up miserable?”

John rolled his eyes. “No, but, eh, gotta know you’re alive somehow, right?”

“By acting like an absolute fool before retching into a toilet?”

“You’re either a fucking robot or a goddamn Vulcan.” Dee groaned. “I’m actually hoping for the latter because then I could force you to have a good time by giving you chocolate.”

“I will trust your judgement on that one.”

“You’ve never watched Star Trek?”

Didn’t he have this conversation recently? “No time. I was more of a Star Wars person anyway.”

“No wonder I hated you.” Dee stated, chuckling.

“If you are going to judge my media tastes, I will leave.”

“Good! Get out there, eat a Hershey’s bar, and have fun, you Vulcan ass.”

Machiavelli shook his head with a smile and stood up. “As you wish.”


	24. Breaking the Rules, Sophie and Dee

“Dee, Virginia said you weren’t allowed to do this.”

“Well she isn’t here is she, Sophie? Besides I’m older than she is by a few hundred years.”

“That just makes your relationship with her sound really creepy.”

“Shut up.”

“I also think that microwaving a lava lamp is a bad idea.”

“Do you want to see something cool or not?”

“Fine.”

An explosion happened 15 minutes later, coating a good chunk of the kitchen in pink goo and glass.

Sophie glared at Dee, a shard of glass sticking out of her arm. “And you wonder why I don’t trust you.”

Dee shrugged sheepishly, winching as the movement caused a hunk of glass to move further within his torso. “Okay, not my best plan. But it’s not like you’re seriously injured.”

“I’m leaving.”


	25. Grinding, Dee/Machiavelli

Goosebumps raced along Machiavelli’s skin as he was hoisted onto the cool wood. Dee pulled himself up while pushing Niccolò back so they could lie flat on the meeting room table.

Dee suckled a spot on Machiavelli’s neck while unbuttoning the Italian’s shirt.

“Taking the time to actually unbutton my shirt?”

“We didn’t start this as a result of a fight.”

Niccolò hummed before working to get John out of his shirt. That was what was happening to a lot of these little meetings. They both needed something, some _one_ , so they came together like this. It was different from their angry dominance plays.

The white shirts were discarded and slid off the polished wood into a heap on the floor.

They paused for a moment to admire each other and let their hands explore. Dee traced Machiavelli’s lithe form with his fingers and had the abrupt thought that he needed to feed the man more.

Before he could think too hard about it, Niccolò kissed him and brought their bodies flush together.

John rolled his hips at a slow and torturous pace, enjoying the fact Machiavelli broke the kiss to make whiny noises. Dee kissed his neck and collarbone.

“Damn… tease.” Niccolò gasped.

“Hate for you… to ruin those… expensive trousers.”

Machiavelli pressed his hips up insistently. John smirked and picked up the pace, sucking at the Italian’s jawline when he tilted his head back for a moan.

He loved seeing the great Machiavelli like this: body flushed and sweaty; lips red, swollen, and open for all those beautiful noises; stone grey eyes squeezed shut or glazed over looking at a spot on the wall.

“You’re gorgeous…” Dee breathed, diving in for another kiss. Niccolò scrapped his nails along Dee’s back in response.

John’s hips started stuttering out an erratic rhythm. He bit the crook of Machiavelli’s neck to keep from screaming out while the Italian gave an open and loud moan.

They fell limp, tired and sticky. Niccolò kissed Dee’s cheek before yawning.


	26. Can You Hear Me?, Dee/Machiavelli

Salt water lapped at Machiavelli’s bare toes and hem of his pants as he stood on the beach of Alcatraz. “Dee, I hope you can hear me where ever or whenever you are.” He sighed, glancing at the waves before looking toward the starry sky.

“I tried to bring Billy back today. It didn’t work; necromancy was never my thing.” He chuckled. “You one-upped me there.”

He sobered. “Please come back soon. Please still be alive.” Tears started burning his eyes. “I’ll be honest. I could’ve handled your death if Billy was alive, but Billy’s dead and I need someone familiar. I’ve lost so many recently. Please come back before I look at my age and decide to go." 

His throat tightened and it was growing harder to bite back sobs. "I want to be dead, but I don’t want to die. John please… I know you and Virginia have probably made up by now; I just need you here.”

Tears rolled down his cheeks and splashed into the tide. “You were always so lucky, John. You can be lucky now.”

Machiavelli hugged himself, sobs wracking his frame. He tried to say something more, but the only things that came out were pathetic noises.

_‘God, are you listening? I know this is selfish, but please bring Dee back safely; I don’t want to be alone.’_


	27. Not Wearing That, Dee/Machiavelli

“I  _just_  got out of the Morrigan’s pet shit. I’m not wearing this.” Dee gestured angrily at the plain leather collar on the table in front of him.

“Can’t break the rules,” Machiavelli snickered, fingertips brushing the collar around his own neck. “Seems the Morrigan started a fad, thank you for that by the way.”

“You are such a kiss ass, Nico.”

“I simply pick my battles wisely.”

Dee rolled his eyes and shot glares between his collar and Machiavelli’s. 

The Italian’s collar was a shiny black with gold studs. There was a gold plate in the very front with a rune carved in that Dee assumed represented Niccolò’s name and a hook for leash below that. If he leaned just right, he could see dark green velvet peeking out from the collar’s edge.

“How’d you get a nice one and end up with the leather strap?”

Niccolò laughed. “I had the smarts to make a deal. I said that I would wear the collar if I got to pick it out.”

“I hate you so much.”

“You’re just jealous.”

Dee leaned over the table, hooked his finger in the loop below Machiavelli’s name plate, and pulled him forward. “Least I can do that to your arrogant ass.”

Niccolò winked, unperturbed at being tugged partway onto a table. “Taking lessons from the Morrigan?”

“I’m going to punch you.”

“You have a finger hooked into my  _collar_  and that’s all you can think of?” He tsk’d. “Shame.”

John smirked. “Never knew you were so submissive.”

“Never knew you were such a sub you don’t know what to do with a man in a collar.”

Dee gaped and Machiavelli took advantage of this by unhooking Dee’s finger and getting up to leave. “Should you figure out what to do, I’m sure you know where I live.”


	28. With You, Dee/Machiavelli

“Nico?”

Machiavelli opened his eyes, vague shock hitting him as he was greeted with the very clear image of Dee. “Mhmm?” He was sure he tried to say something else, but his lips weren’t working right.

Dee looked panicked and Machiavelli thanked God for that. What a lovely thing to see before he died: someone worried abut him.

John rushed over, one hand whipping out a cell phone while the other lightly slapped Niccolò’s face. “Yes? I have a…”

Machiavelli’s eyes started drooping and he heard Dee’s voice going farther away. Until there was a slap against his face and Dee’s voice was right there.

“Nico, you need to stay awake. I swear to God if you die I will raise you from the dead just to kill you again!”

 _‘You’re dead, Dee. I’m just hallucinating all this…’_  Machiavelli thought, lips unable to move. His eyes closed again.

“Nico? Nico!”

-

The first thing that happened when he woke up was that Dee slapped him. 

The second was that Dee hugged him. “You dumb bastard.”

Machiavelli blinked. “Where am I?”

“Heaven, so just another Shadowrealm. You killed yourself, Nico.”

“I did, didn’t I?” He returned Dee’s hug. “I’m so glad to see you.”

“You waited for me for a year, why?”

“Who else was I going to wait for?”

“Glad to see I’m a last resort.” John retorted with a chuckle.

“You were the only one I had hope would come back.”


	29. Fever, Dee/Machiavelli

“You look awful, Nico.” Dee commented after the meeting.

Machiavelli glared at him the best he could with red, watery eyes. “That wasn’t what you said a few weeks ago; you called me gorgeous.” It was impossible to sound aloof and witty with a stuffed nose, he decided.

“Sorry if I’m not all for the red eyes, runny nose look." 

Niccolò chose not to comment, mainly because a mental haze was making it hard to think of a response. He took a breath and stood up. He kept a hand on the chair and tried to convince himself he could take another step; his weak legs spoke otherwise.

John’s eyebrows furrowed at the sight. He had originally thought Machiavelli hit a tough bout of allergies, but allergies didn’t lead to shaking limbs. "Nico?”

“Mhm?” Machiavelli murmured before collapsing back into the chair. “ _Merda…._ ” He attempted to stand again, but found the strength gone.

Dee rushed over and examined Niccolò with trembling hands and wide eyes. “Bloody hell, Nico…. You’re burning up. How’d you even get sick? I thought we couldn’t get sick.”

Machiavelli took several moments to process what Dee had just said. “Yeah… unless an elder… decides to give… you magic flu.” He wheezed, eyes fluttering.

John sighed. “Let’s get you home.” He crouched and tossed one of Niccolò’s arms around his neck. Abruptly realizing Machiavelli was taller than him and that maybe dragging him out of the building was a bad idea, Dee swept the Italian into a bridal carry. Machiavelli grunted in confusion before snuggling in. 

He walked out, ignoring all the stares and giggles, and searched for Niccolò’s car. After not finding it after a minute of scanning, John carried the snoozing immortal to his car.

Once they got home, Dee tucked Machiavelli into the guest bed and went to make some soup for when Nico was lucid.

He tried not to think about what all this effort implied.


	30. My Child, Dee/Machiavelli

It was rare for them to be in the same country, and even rarer for them to see each other outside of work. So Dee was mildly surprised when he ran across Machiavelli in a random French park.

Niccolò was seated on a park bench, intent on whatever he was writing in a moleskin notebook. Each of his strokes seemed purposeful and Dee quirked an eyebrow as he approached.

“Thought you could write faster than that.”

Machiavelli perked and gave a dazed smile. “I can, for work. But this is leisure and takes more conscious note. I’ve found this is particularly true of poetry.”

John hummed. “It’s easy to forget you were both a poet and a playwright.”

“Sometimes I forget too.” He replied, looking back at his writing with distant eyes.

Dee sat beside him and mused that there was a time he would’ve rather thrown himself into a volcano than voluntarily sit beside the Italian. “What are you writing about?”

“You know, 500+ years is a lot of time. Enough time to start wondering if the images in your head are actually your children or just faces you imagined, especially if you barely saw them in the first place.”

Dee blinked, surprised at the random admission. Machiavelli continued and it seemed he was talking more to himself than Dee.

“I should’ve listened to Marietta. I never was home enough.” He shook his head. “Apologies, I just found some old letters my children sent and felt inspired.”

“Oh.” John found he had nothing else to say and decided to leave. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

“Didn’t mean to run you off.” Machiavelli smiled. “Have a good day, John.”

“You too.”


	31. Blood, Dee/Machiavelli

Dee’s head was bowed in a rare combination of fear and resignation. Blood and mud dripped of his clothes and skin. Machiavelli was beside him, bristling with rage.

The Codex was the main goal, but Machiavelli had suggested that other objects of power should be retrieved because it would help the Dark Elders and would keep them from twiddling their thumbs waiting for the Flamels to make a mistake. This also had the benefit of leading to internal competition which kept Machiavelli useful. After the Medici, he found it was beneficial to keep many palms greased.

It was supposed to be a simple thing. The temple was guarded, but the Elder sent some of his men and Dee was going in as well. Niccolò oversaw everything.

Then the going got tougher than expected and the other men took the artifact and hightailed out of there. And apparently did not carry it to their master. “Master” being used lightly as, Machiavelli found out, they were pre-paid hired guns.

An arrow lodged in Machiavelli’s leg made it harder and harder for him to keep his anger at the Elder’s ranting in check. 

_“Failures the both of you! What do your masters even see in you weaklings?!”_

Niccolò grit his teeth in the attempt of a polite smile. “With all due respect, you are the one who gave mercenaries, who are known to back down when their lives are at risk, money beforehand.”

 _“How **dare**  you suggest I am responsible for this pathetic display!_ _”_  The Elder bellowed, causing Dee to shoot his companion an out of character warning glare.

Machiavelli ignored Dee. “You certainly made it far harder than it needed to be!” He didn’t need to be allied with such a fool! Besides, he could pass the details of this fiasco to the right Elder and get this one blown off the map. He failed to play the game in Italy, now he knew better. 

"Nico, you should shut up!” Dee snapped.  
 _“Listen to your friend, Italian. Show some respect.”_

“I will, when you’ve made yourself deserving of it.” Pain shot through him with the last word. Machiavelli crumpled to the ground coughing up blood. 

 _“Beg for my mercy, whelp!”_  

Niccolò shot the Elder a bloody smile. “Or what…?” He wheezed in between couching fits. “You’ll kill me?” He heaved a wet laugh and Dee flinched as more blood splattered against the floor. “Good luck staying alive after that.”

Sensing he’d been beaten, the Elder sidestepped out of this plane into his Shadowrealm.

Machiavelli stood as the pain ebbed away, although an annoying ache pervaded his body and blood oozed from his nose. “That went well.”

Dee glared at him with enough force that Machiavelli was glad looks couldn’t literally kill. “If there wasn’t a huge puddle of your blood on the floor, I would punch you.”

“I can feel the love, John.”


	32. All I Ask, Black Hawk/Virginia

She never meant to fall again. She didn’t want to be held down ever again. She didn’t want the heartbreak.

But Black Hawk slipped in and became a great friend before tumbling into something else. 

They had a lot in common. They had shared interests outside of sex. Black Hawk actually enjoyed accompanying Virginia on her forest strolls. He helped her look after the animals.  
Dee could never be bothered.

“All I ask is that you don’t put your Elder in front of me all the time.”

“I promise.”

And he actually kept his promise.


	33. Flying, Dee/Machiavelli

A cool, salty breeze kissed their skin as they lay in the grass, staring up at the expansive night sky.

“I’ve always wanted to fly.” Dee mentioned, breaking the calm silence.

Machiavelli hummed. “Wanted the freedom of the wind against your skin? Because up there has always been portrayed as better than down here?”

“Exactly like that. I take it you’ve had the same desire.”

“There’s a reason my grip of the element of Earth is not nearly as strong as my others.” Niccolò smiled. “But I’ve found a great substitute for flight.”

With that he sat up and tugged off his clothes before standing. Dee quirked an eyebrow, curious as to what his lover was up to but not exactly minding the view. Curiosity soon morphed into panic as Machiavelli ran forward and flung himself off the cliff they were currently on.

The was a faint splash and Dee rushed to the edge before a laugh echoed up.

“Goddammit, Nico!" 

Machiavelli continued laughing. “Come in, John!”

Dee looked at the drop. “Is there another way in?”

"No.”

“Then no.”

Niccolò rolled his eyes. “John, I was 58 when you were still in your mother’s womb! You’re gonna let an old man beat you?”

Not one to back down from a challenge, Dee pulled of his clothes, got a running start, and jumped off the cliff.

And immediately regretted the decision.

The salty wind bit his skin and whipped through his hair. Though he couldn’t really appreciate the beauty of it all as adrenaline screamed through his system.

Then he was under ice-cold water.

“Bloody fucking hell, Nico!” He snapped, shivering.

Machiavelli laughed, a dirty-white haze around him. “It’s in the middle of the night, John.”

“You’re using your aura as a heater, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I thought you knew to do the same thing.”

Dee glared while a sickly yellow film surrounded him. “Jumping off a cliff into cold water is your flight replacement?”

“Not really. I usually just use that path over there.” He pointed, biting back a snicker. “And then swim.”

Dee looked at the very safe path and then at the cliff he just jumped from and then to Machiavelli. “You fucking little shit. One day with Billy was too long for you.”

“Probably, but I found jumping much more exhilarating.”

“I’m going to punch you.”

Niccolò grinned. “If you can catch me.” He dived under the water and shot off.

“You ass!”


	34. Eternal, Virginia/Dee

Nothing is truly eternal, but sometimes things feel like they are.

Virginia believed that she and Dee had two flavors of eternity.

They had the warm eternity which happened as they basked in the afterglow of sex. Their bodies curled around one another, heartbeats finally calming down. It happened as sunlight filtered through the curtains and they both fought to keep sleeping. 

Then there was the eternity that happened in the silence following a glass being hurled at a wall during an argument. The eternity within the silence after a door slams. The eternity as the both sat against separate walls sobbing.

Then she found there were other eternities.

There was the eternity in watching the man she loved rapidly aging and then when the suffering was almost over he stopped. And he glanced around with blind, pleading eyes, trying to find a friend somewhere.

There was the eternity as she grabbed at every bit of her aura to try and save innocents. The eternity of strain and ache.

There was the eternity as the man she loved poured every last inch of his aura to help her save lives, at peace with the cost.

And finally, there was the eternity in watching that hero go up in flames, wrinkled face smiling as he found his humanity.


	35. Weight of the World, Machiavelli/Dee

They try not to think about what they’re doing. Try not to think about what they’re working toward. 

Because when they do, the shatter under the pressure of this projected new world.

Dee shoves his broken form into mathematics and astrology. He’s been searching for a link between the two subjects his whole life. He scrawls equations and astrological symbols on scrap paper, napkins, his own skin. There has to be a link. There has to be some way to measure the probability of all these predicted events. Someway to reassure himself that yes this time he’ll get the Codex and not have to worry about this anymore.

Machiavelli spills his shards and arranges them into sheet music. He forgoes sleep as he puppeteers key signatures, chords, and notes. Caffeine pills and coffee compose their own melody while he composes his in meetings. His fingers and arms become ink stained as he orders harmonies. This is the one thing he can order around that won’t have any repercussions if he makes a mistake.

They’ve been in this state at the same time and seen each other only once. 

They sat beside one another as Elders out-lined plans. Their arms match; solid black lines and swirls surrounded by faded ghosts. After the meeting ended, Machiavelli waited exactly two and a half beats before whipping over and pulling Dee into a bruising kiss. They melted together as both of them were adverse to slowly purging stress alone. 

When they came up with ink smudged across their chests and faces, they both felt more put together. They slotted their shards back into place and maybe they just sealed it all with duct tape but it was better than nothing. 

And from that point they tried to keep one another from diving off the deep end, where they won’t make it back.

Machiavelli apologizes to the sky, where Dee might hear him, for not doing it when it really counted everyday after Alcatraz.


	36. Good Enough, Dee/Virginia

He had all of the time in the world since he was granted immortality and now he wished he had more. He felt Death’s scythe at his throat, ready to drag his soul… somewhere. If he was honest with himself, Hell was more likely than anything else.

He wanted to scream at the agony. Using his aura shouldn’t feel like pulling his body apart joint by joint, but no. Virginia was still struggling, she needed more and he had more in him. There was no way to make up for all he had done to her and the world, but giving her enough of his aura she could easily handle the strain would have to be good enough.

Just one more push and-  
He only felt the burn of flames for an instant before Death made a long overdue collection.

Death continued tugging his soul along, but Dee could still see the scene. The innocents were saved.

 _Good enough._  


	37. Believe, Machiavelli/Dee

He felt foolish after the first year of waiting passed and Dee hadn’t showed up at his doorstep. But he kept waiting.

Around year three, he started thinking that maybe Dee wasn’t coming back. If any of the immortals who went to Danu Talis came back, they hadn’t saw fit to find and tell him what happened. 

He stopped preparing an extra mug of coffee or tea January of year four.  
February of year four, he stopped his constant glancing to his door.  
April of year four, he stopped checking his phone every five minutes “just in case Dee sent a message”.

Year five he started wondering why he was still alive if there was no one to be alive for. Year six he found his answer. He had stopped obsessing over Dee’s return, but without knowing the magician’s actual fate he kept the glimmer of hope that Dee was coming back.

Over the years his hope for Dee’s return morphed into a general hope for the future.

He tried to do things that would make Billy proud. He slipped in sly insults toward his co-workers and bosses that they never got, but Dee would’ve appreciated. He went home to Florence and left a letter full of apologies to Marietta he’s ashamed he didn’t make sooner on where he remembered his wife’s grave was.

He broke capsules into a glass of apple juice in year twenty. And he knew there was no way twenty years of good made up for 500 years of questionable, but it was his time. It should have been his time long before this. He had no specific beliefs as to what was waiting for him on the other side, but he believed there was  _something_. And whatever that something was, whether Heaven or Hell or another afterlife, he knew he deserved it.

-

Bathed in a golden glow, Niccolò Machiavelli was greeted with more smiling faces than he had ever hoped for.


	38. All I Ask and Can You Hear Me?, Dee/Virginia

“Are you even listening, Dee? Can you even hear me? John no-!”

Virginia deflated as the door slammed behind Dee. She leaned against a wall and slid down, tears already sliding down her cheeks. They had this argument every time Dee came home. And it went the same every single time.

Virginia wondered why she even bothered anymore. He always said he “loved her but…”. And the ‘but’ hurt the most because it meant she was less important than helping a bunch of assholes.

“I just want you home….” She murmured.

She didn’t want to be the only thing in his life. She didn’t want him to drop everything. She didn’t want unending attention.

She just needed him to be home more than once in a blue moon.  
That’s all she asked.


	39. Eternal, Machiavelli/Dee

Nothing is eternal. Even the Elders will greet Death’s door one day. Civilizations collapse, worlds die, stars explode. Nothing lasts forever.

And Machiavelli knew this well.

Sometimes he felt like he wasn’t living for anything. Why help the Dark Elders when they’ll all be decimated eventually whether through internal collapse or outside force. He should’ve died long ago anyway, what does he need to stick around for.

Then he realized.

He lived for the space between breaths.  
He lived for raindrops falling in puddles.  
He lived for tears falling the same way.

He lived for the warmth of another body.  
The soft scents of sulfur and snake coating the air because sometimes it’s easier to let it drift alive.  
He lived for a well-trimmed beard tickling his thighs.

He lived for sharp words and sharper teeth.  
He lived for bruises.  
He lived for blood dripping from wounds,

When Black Hawk and Billy asked; no, he rarely did stuff just for fun.  
But he did live.  
He lived for being alive. He lived for living.

Dee’s hysterical laughter echoed in his brain. Images of Dee’s wild demeanor made their haunt the space behind his eyelids.

He could live without Dee.

It was endgame anyway. The last scrapes of sand were sliding through his hourglass.  
He lived for dying.


	40. Irresistible, Dee/Virginia

Dee found Virginia attractive the moment he saw her. This immediately started his plans to try and at least get one night with her.

Unfortunately, he was well out of practice on courting rituals. He never really had the proper time to date or even have a one-night stand at some random bar.

Through astute observation, a.k.a watching more romcoms than probably healthy, Dee decided that coffee was probably the best strategy.

He had intended on sounding very suave and clever while asking her out; he ended up stumbling through the introductions and offer. She giggled and in that moment John could’ve swore that he felt an arrow stab him straight through the heart.

(Maybe he did watch too many chick flicks before doing this…)

But, despite his sudden lack of grace, Virginia agreed and coffee dates snowballed into dinner and movie dates. Soon they were giving goodnight kisses at the door and Dee would bring her flowers for no apparent reason.

Machiavelli pretended to gag whenever he saw the pair, even though he was no better when he was head over heels.

It was beautiful.

When he looks back now he misses it with every inch of his soul.


	41. Happy Birthday, Machiavelli/Dee

Dee and Machiavelli found that after passing year 150 of their lives, birthdays became tedious. Years became tinier and tinier fractions of their lives and, well, there was no point anymore.

Also there’s only so many times they could take clerk jokes as they set three of the numbered candles onto the belt.

But, once they stopped looking at each other with pure hatred, they developed their own little tradition: Firefly the board game. 

“Birthday boy gets Serenity.” Machiavelli slid over the cardboard with a smile. “How old are you now?”

“Now come, Nico. You know to never ask an immortal their age.” Dee teased. “I’m taking Malcolm.”

Niccolò chuckled. “Okay well then I’m going with Womack.”

“You’re so going to lose.”

“We’re doing a pure Niska and illegal run, right?”

“Of course.”

“Then don’t count on it.”

-

“Goddammit, Nico! You had to move the Reavers there?!”

“You’re the one who trapped me with the Alliance.”


	42. Broken Wings, Dee and the Morrigan

Dee’s lip curled in disgust as globs of blood and feather attached themselves to his clothes.

“You do know that I’m not an actual doctor right? I have a doctorate, which does not qualify me for  _this_.”

The Morrigan sniffed. “Of course I know, pet. Just splint my wing. It’s not that hard.”

"Then you do it.” John muttered, washing the wounds with soap per the instructions of the eHow article. “You have an aura, why don’t you just heal it?”

The goddess frowned. “Well see… what happened was that-“

“Oh God I don’t want to know anymore. That is the worst phrase to open a story with.” He sighed, dabbing the wounds with cornstarch before popping off her top. “You are lucky your armor can pop off around your wings.”

“I designed it with the purpose in mind. I’m not an idiot.”

Dee hummed, tucking Morrigan’s wing into what he hoped was its resting position. He carefully wrapped the bandage around her injured wing and body. “Can the wing move?”

“No and it’s comfortable.”

“Good.” Dee sighed. Goddamn he wasn’t doing this again. He was a mathematician, astronomer, magician, necromancer, alchemist, and sorcerer not a fucking veterinarian. 


	43. First Kiss, Billy/Black Hawk

“Hell yeah! We showed those assholes!” Billy cheered, tossing his controller in unbridled joy. 

Black Hawk chuckled. Billy had done most of the work, but there was no reason not to celebrate too. He turned his head for some comment or another just in time for Billy’s lips to hit his.

Surely the cowboy had just meant for a triumphant cheek peck, but Billy didn’t seem too taken aback by the accident. In fact, he broke away after it may have been a moment too long and continued on as if they did this everyday.

Blood rushed to Black Hawk’s cheeks and he tried to figure out what his pounding heartbeat meant.


	44. Diamond, Machiavelli/Dee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU where Billy and Virginia died and Dee and Machiavelli survived

“Niccolò Machiavelli will you-?”

“No.”

Dee slumped, hand holding a black box falling limp in his lap. “At least let me finish the question. And why not?”

“Just no, John. We’ve had a miraculously fine relationship so far and will continue to have one without rings or a wedding.” Machiavelli replied, suddenly finding it very hard to keep eye contact and not wring his hands.

Dee shook his head. “No. We’ve worked together for literal centuries and prevented one another from leaping off the deep end due to stress. And we’ve somehow managed to not drag each other under due to self-deprecation and maddening guilt when Virginia and Billy died.” He sighed. “Can I get something more than ‘just no’? You’re all I got left, Nico.”

“When Marietta died I made a promise not to remarry. Happy now?”

“Why?”

Machiavelli frowned. “What do you mean ‘why’?”

“Well it’s not like you were super devoted to her in the first place. I will admit that has the possibility of being romantic, it’s not in this case.” Dee said, waving his empty hand.

Niccolò blanched and had the sudden feeling of a net closing around him. “I loved my wife!”

“Right. You do know there’s a literal edu page all about you and love. And it seemed you loved those mistresses more. Though please, insist I’m wrong. Insist that all the letters you sent your wife were just destroyed along the way.” John sighed. “I’m not trying to hurt you, but it seems like you’re dodging something.”

Machiavelli slumped and stared at the ground. “I know what it’s like to bury a spouse and I would never wish that on someone. I want to die eventually and not getting married gives me an escape when I’m too tired to keep going. I never made that promise out of pure, devoted love to Marietta. I loved her, I did, but…” he cracked a sad smile. “I’ve always fallen hard and fast. ‘Slave to cupid’ and all that. I made the promise so I wouldn’t put myself through watching a lover die again. When I got older, it shifted into not wanting to put someone through that.”

“Well just remember the ring is a formality that does not at all affect my feelings and that, when you die, I’ll probably follow close behind.” Machiavelli opened his mouth, but Dee cut him off. “Not because I’m trying to be Romeo, but because I’ll probably get tired around the same time.”

“The year of my ‘death’ was the same year you were born, John. I have 58 years on you.”

“How delightfully creepy. And I didn’t say immediately. Probably a century or two. Always had awful stamina.”

“No wonder you couldn’t catch the Flamels.”

“Hey!”

Machiavelli shrugged. “You bring up my shortcomings, I bring up yours.”

Dee grinned. “See? We’re practically an old married couple already.”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too.”


	45. Irresistible and Grinding, Dee and Sophie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No underage, just Pokemon shenanigans

“You are seriously awful at this game, Dee.”

Dee gaped at the teen. “You para-fused me! What else am I supposed to do?”

Sophie shrugged, resisting a snicker as she clicked ‘protect’.

The magician groaned. “I hate your fucking Sylveon.”

“Bubblegum hates you too.” She snickered. “She also enjoys walling your whole team. Did you put this team together in an afternoon?”

John glared at his DS. Maybe he could…. “Oh fuck you!”

“Language, sir. I’m glad I spent the time to breed and grind up this team; I enjoy pissing you off.”

“I hate you so much, Sophie.”

“Good, then you won’t be hurt as I sweep your team.”

“You can’t possibly… holy shit.”

“Good game. Though maybe you should stick with magic and not Pokemon.”


	46. Breaking the Rules, Dee/Nicholas/Machiavelli

It had been since quite a few months after the events of Alcatraz and everyone’s return from Danu Talis, but, outside the immediate ‘holy shit we survived!’ party, Nicholas and Dee hadn’t spoken at all. There was also a notable lack of communication between Dee and Machiavelli.

Perenelle, Virginia, and Billy decided to take it upon themselves to fix this.

All six of them went out for drinks. Perenelle and Virginia made sure Dee and Nicholas didn’t bring up old grudges or fall into tense silences. Billy made sure Machiavelli actually drank.

After making sure the boys were properly intoxicated and could actually hold a conversation on their own, the other party left. It was all very smooth, much like when a parent lets go of the bike their child is riding for the first time.

Nicholas noticed that his wife was suddenly gone because he’d spent many years keeping track of her, but Machiavelli started sharing embarrassing Dee stories and he just had to hear that.

The drinks continued flowing and all of them were very happy drunks, although Machiavelli was notably more touchy-feely.

Dee bat at Niccolò’s face in an attempt to dissuade the neck-nibbling. “Stop it. Nicholas is right here.”

Machiavelli hummed and flicked his eyes up toward a baffled looking Nick. “Of course. Can’t leave Signor Flamel out of this.” He chimed with a sly smile.

Something distantly dinged in Nicholas’ brain that maybe this was a bad idea, but he barely noticed it. “Plan?”

Dee rolled his eyes as Machiavelli explained with a grin. “First, we get a cab to my apartment. Second, we have a shit ton of fun.”

“Okay.”

The stumbled out and hailed a cab all according to plan. Again, Nicholas had the inkling that maybe this was an awful idea and, again, he proceeded to ignore it. 

Machiavelli led them up to the apartment and Dee kept the Italian from getting too handsy too early.

Once the door was unlocked, Niccolò took John and Nick’s hands and tugged them toward the bedroom. “C'mon, c'mon. It’s been far too long since my last ménage à trois.” Dee leaned over and whispered something to Nicholas which made the alchemist turn beet red.

While Machiavelli made all his usual preparations, John and Nick settled on the bed. Dee straddled his old adversary and slid his hands under Nicholas’ shirt.

Flamel’s brow furrowed and John smirked. “I’ve had the hots for teacher for sometime.” Nicholas nodded, accepting of the explanation.

-

Nicholas woke up to a pounding headache and far too much pressure on his chest. He braced himself and opened his eyes, groaning at the sunlight filtering through the curtains. He felt his heart drop as he took in the surroundings.

Machiavelli was draped on top of him and Dee was on top of the Italian.  
All three of them were naked.

Nick wiggled around and managed to get out from under the pile. Now where were his clothes…?

“ _Buon giorno, tesoro._ ” Niccolò purred, sliding out from under a snoring Dee. He raked his eyes over the Frenchman, admiring the hickeys and bite marks. “Have fun?”

Nicholas gaped. “We had sex.”

“I gathered that. I also remember that.”

“And I’m married; have been for many, many happy centuries.”

Machiavelli shrugged. “Bit too late to take it back.” He pointed toward the corner of the bed, wincing as he tugged sore muscles. “I believe Dee tossed your clothes over there, hot for teacher indeed. Feel free to use the shower before doing your walk of shame home.”

“Are you planning on harassing Dee like this?” Nicholas questioned walking to the aforementioned corner.

“It’s not harassment. You’re ashamed, so you get the walk of shame. If Dee wakes up content with himself, he’ll have a confident walk home.”

Flamel frowned and tugged on his clothes, intent on getting out as soon as possible.

-

When he got home, Nicholas told Perenelle everything.

She nearly pissed herself laughing. “I wanted you and Dee to get friendly. Well, you’ve always been an overachiever!”


	47. Meant No Harm and Coming Home, Dee/Nicholas/Machiavelli

Dee and Nicholas couldn’t bother to actually talk with one another despite everyone else being able to put aside past feuds.

Billy, Virginia, and Scathach became easy friends and enjoyed telling tales of their adventures, although sometimes it got a little fantastic. Sophie was instantly adopted by all the immortals and got used to the rag-tag family soon enough. She even learned to forgive Dee and the pair could get into a surprising amount of trouble.

Even Perenelle was able to move past the wrongs of both Dee and Machiavelli. None of the events were forgotten, but it was viewed that there was no time for grudges.

In the end, it was Machiavelli who forced John and Nicholas to sit down and have a conversation. They traveled to Niccolò’s home in France for it. He thought that it would give everyone a home court feeling; it was his actual home, the country was Nick’s, and John was familiar and comfortable with Machiavelli.

They sat at the kitchen table, pot of tea sitting in the very middle of the table on a tray with all the tea needs. Dee and Nicholas were trying very hard not to look at one another and Machiavelli was trying equally as hard to avoid saying ‘fuck it’ and dragging out the wine.

Well time to go to an old standby. “John this is why your relationship with Virginia ultimately failed.” Nicholas gaped.

Dee narrowed his eyes. “Explain.”

“You don’t know how to face the elephants in the room.” There were two ways this could go and only one opened up a back-and-forth. Fortunately, Machiavelli figured it was the most likely outcome.

“Are you saying the lack of conversation is my fault?”  
Machiavelli resisted a smirk. He loved playing this game.

“I’m saying you have quite a lot to answer for. I’ve repaired my bridges.”

Nicholas wrung his hands and stared at the door. Dee whipped around to glare at him. “And he has nothing to explain?”

The alchemist opened his mouth, but John cut him off. “Nico and I weren’t the only ones who committed atrocities! How many died under your care, Nicholas?”

Flamel glanced away. “Too many, but it was for a good cause!”

“A prophecy you never fully understood from a book you never fully understood!”

Niccolò poured himself a cup of tea, ignoring Nicholas bolting up from his seat. This should be cathartic. That or it was going to go horribly wrong and he was going to have to pull the pair apart.

Nicholas snapped out a laugh. “You followed that prophecy as much as we did! You killed one of Shakespeare’s sons because of it!”

“One, Nicholas, one! I tried  _once!_ ”

“You put Josh through it!”

Dee rolled his eyes. “And you, Sophie. I think you should try a different angle.”

The vague scent of mint tinged the air.

“Okay, let’s talk about all those you’ve killed trying to catch me!”

Sulfur joined the mint.

“Do you think I don’t think about that?” Dee shouted. “Do you think that I haven’t had a single regret?”

“Oh no.” Nick waved his hand. “I’m sure you’ve regretted being an utter failure at catching me!”

Machiavelli glanced up from his cup and started planning on how to split them up.

“Is it so hard to believe that I actually regret every moment I’ve spent serving the Dark Elders? But you know what? It was for the best. I used to looked up to you, viewed you as a father figure.”

Nicholas deflated at that. “Then why steal from me?” He asked, voice smaller.

Dee didn’t notice the tone change. “Because I found someone who would actually give me more! Why do you think Shakespeare left you? He spoke multiple languages and was a genius. You had him cleaning your shop!” His lip curled. “You’re as bad as Nico and I. At least we never acted like we were playing the saint.”

Flamel fell silent and John shot a cold glare toward Machiavelli. “Happy?”

“Very actually.”

Dee looked taken aback, before he found a pair of arms wrapped around him.

Niccolò took a smug sip of tea as he watched Dee try and puzzle through how he missed Nick walking over and hugging him. “I’m good at what I do.”


	48. Secret Admirer, Josh and Prometheus

The mythology Josh knew was primarily Greek, because everybody knew Greek mythology. His favorite figure had always been Prometheus.

Just the act of defiance to help humanity had always sang to Josh. The heroics, the middle finger to oppression, the tragic punishment.

So when he actually met the man, he was a little starstruck. Sure he knew who Machiavelli was, but, while he could stand the man he met, he never liked the man he learned about. Prometheus is the first figure he met that he recognized and liked.

He tried to not make it obvious as he learned to manipulate fire beside this childhood hero.


	49. Tongue-tied, Dee/Nicholas

Dee took a deep breath, straightening his shirt (that he bought specifically for this) for the fifteenth time. He took a deep breath.  _‘No big deal. It’s just the only person you know who will actually mentor you in magic and may kick you out because of this. Bloody hell, what am I doing?’_

He rapped his knuckles on the door and pulled himself together.

“Ah, Dee! Prompt as always; come in, come in!” The alchemist beckoned him into the house and John attempted to ignore the heart palpitations.

“Now I figured your ready for….” Dee watched Nicholas’ lips move and may have picked up a word or two. God, he could ruin this. If he mentioned anything, he may never get to see this man again. Maybe he should stay silent.

“John?” He blinked out of his daze. “Are you alright?”

“O-of course. Nicholas, sir!” He stuttered with a flinch. Smooth, Dee, smooth.

“Good! Let’s get started then!”

Dee paid absolutely zero attention to anything Flamel said. He just watched those deft hands and cute lips and the way his shirt wrinkled when he twisted just right….

“John!”

“Sir?”

Nicholas sighed. “Are you sure you'e alright?”

Dee waved a hand. “Of course.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “Really? Then finish this off for me.”

John looked at the setup and had no idea what to do. Maybe… no… what if… no….

“I figured. What’s wrong?”

He sighed, deflating and trying to figure out how to word this. “You were an apprentice at sometime, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well what would have done if your mentor had been an attractive lady?”

Nicholas blinked. Oh no he really never expected to have to do this. “Is there a lady in town you like?" 

John shook his head. "No… yes… I find you attractive, sir.”

A tense silence followed shortly after the admission. Dee started mentally packing his bags and mapping out where he could go after this. Nicholas set a hand on his shoulder. “I’m married, John. This is just a passing attraction; I’m sure you’ll find… someone for yourself. That person is not me.”

Dee nodded, tears stinging his eyes.

“How about you go home and we’ll get a fresh start tomorrow?”

The Englishman perked. “You mean…?”

“You’re still my apprentice, John.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Goodbye, John.”


	50. Grinding, Dee/Excalibur

Dee wondered who he pissed off (or pleased, he wasn’t sure yet) to be put in this position. One moment he had three of the four swords of power, the next…. Well technically he still had three, but Excalibur was currently a humanoid. He said humanoid because had no idea how human Excalibur was.

She had an androgynous appearance but referred to herself as female since she was only used to that. Her skin was periwinkle and her eyes were a striking sapphire. There was a rune over her right eye that Dee couldn’t decipher for the life of him. She wore a light gold tunic and navy pants.

Oh. And once John touched her in an attempt to keep her from killing him, Excalibur couldn’t stop touching  _him_.

This was annoying for multiple reasons.

First, she was a great deal taller than him and somehow he always ended up with her blue-grey hair tickling his nose.

Second, it seemed her flesh form still allowed her to make a bridge for their thoughts and feelings. It also seemed to make those feelings more potent and thus harder for even his trained mind to resist.

Third, she wanted to touch skin. “I always hated it when you wore gloves while handling me.” Dee tried to stop her, but Excalibur was insistent and knew how to impose agreement.

“I never imagined my master would be soft,” she noted, hands under his nightshirt. “But no… you’ve got something solid here.”

Dee tried not to feel offended by that. “Excalibur, I would appreciate it if you would stop.”

She mentally waved him off and then sent over an apology as annoyance filtered through. “I’ve never touched anything before.” Her hands slid upwards. John gasped as she brushed his nipples.

“What are these?”

Dee grabbed her arms to pull her off, which did not help their already overwhelming connection at all.

“You enjoy this, why do you want me off?” Excalibur cocked her head.

“You are a sword. Besides this is inappropriate.”

She seemed to ignore him. “I’ve never felt this sensation from you before.”

“For good reason,” he responded with a sigh.

“I want to figure it out.” She blinked as she got a stronger read of Dee’s emotions. “You do not approve of my forwardness.”

“Observant, aren’t you?”

She paused and John felt like something was picking through his brain. “May I figure this new sensation out?” That was appropriate. You were supposed to ask first.

She didn’t actively try and sway him, but Dee felt the full brunt of her curiosity and excitement. 

“Yes.”

Things quickly escalated from there.

Excalibur enjoyed the full skin on skin contact, though Dee was reeling from the confusion of being unable to tell whose emotions were whose. It did not stop him from noticing she had no genitalia to speak of. This was quite alright, though. She was adaptable and knew all of Dee’s most sensitive spots with moments of their hips meeting.

The sensation she was reading was arousal, John’s thoughts told her. Excalibur found she was distracted from properly storing this information. She had never been distracted before. Curious as to how potent this could be, she went all out on her master.

Dee would’ve felt embarrassed to be reduced to a whimpering, moaning mess because of a humanoid Excalibur, but this was far too great.

Excalibur tensed as Dee came. Her mind was blank and overloaded all at the same time. She jumped off as soon as she could, regretting the loss of contact but needing to process separate from anyone else.

John rolled over and went to sleep, he could deal with what he just did later.


	51. Let Me Kiss It Better, Dee and the Morrigan

“Oh did my little pet get hurt on a mission?”

Dee groaned, ignoring the goddess in favor of attempting to remove his ripped, blood and mud encrusted shirt. ‘Attempt’ being the key word. 

“Aw come on, doctor. Don’t ignore me.”

He dropped his arms, unable to get his fingers to undo the buttons. “Why are you in my house?”

The Morrigan strode over and undid Dee’s shirt. “I care about my pets.” She slid the shirt off his shoulders, sucking in a breath as she got a full view of his injuries. His chest was mottled with bruises and a few gashes.

“Tsk, tsk, pet. Well, let me kiss it better.” She teased.

Dee pulled away, aura giving off a feeble spark. “Leave me alone.” He walked to the couch and flopped down with a pained gasp. Fuck, he was going to have to clean the couch after this.

The Morrigan frowned. She glanced around and left the room.

John had just started drifting off when something warm and damp touched his chest. The Crow Goddess was kneeling by the couch, wiping his chest with a soaked cloth.

“What…?”

She glanced at him. “I care about my pets. Besides you’ve helped me when I was injured; you scratch my back, I scratch yours, as they say.”

“Just seal the wounds if you want to help.” Dee muttered and the Morrigan pressed a bit too hard on one of his bruises in response.

“I can’t seal what I can’t see. Your chest is filthy. Actually, all of you is filthy.” She eased up and went back to gentle wiping. “It’s your fault for using up your aura.”

“It was this or dying.”

“Isn’t it always?”


	52. First Kiss and Last Dance, Dee/Excalibur

_I fit in hand perfectly. This magician is meant to wield me, though I know he is not as noble as my previous master. He slides his fingers along my blade and I give him a polite taste of my chill. Approval sings through me and an unspoken bond forms._

_He trains with other blades similar to my weight. I wonder why he does this. Does he fear that he will damage me? Does he not know that I will guide his hand?  Does he feel like he needs to bring his skills up to be worthy of me? He never holds me after his training so I cannot find my answers._

_Maybe that’s for the best. I should trust my master._

_He does not use me to aid in the capture of his old mentor. I am his ‘ace’; a secret. I am not used to being a secret, although he uses me for other things._

_I help in with missions he knows will never see the public light of day. I remember every strike, but the first is always prominent. The foe was hardly skilled and I may have displayed too much power given that. I guided my master’s hand through the enemy’s chest and easily froze all the blood in his veins._

_Intrigue and surprise flowed through my length, but there was a great amount of pride and joy too. I sent back a humble thank you and could not resist sending an equal spark of joy._

_-_

_I had not expected my sibling to crash so violently into me. She preys on my deep connection to my master._

**_Always your flaw. I devour, you save._ **

_My master’s emotions and flashes of memory are dragged through my sister and sink into her host. I resist, refusing to let more slip through, though I feel my master’s surprise and fear I’ve done too little too late._

_Energy shoots through me and I twitch in anger at the loss of ground._

_When we clash again I am prepared. My sister runs her half of the show while my master and I move as one, though this time I wish he would let me have more control. I reel as I find my master’s physical connection gone._

_My sister’s host grabs me and I violently resist him. I scream at him.  
_ IT IS NOT YOUR TIME  
 _I shimmer with pride as he tosses me away._

_I call out to my master as he reaches in to grab me. He cleans my blade with a bit of his weak aura and I thank him before his emotions fully filter through. Shame, fear, isolation, and betrayal ooze into me. I try and whisper words of hope to him beside bright images, but he knocks them away._

_-_

_I leave my master with surprising ease, but something tells me it is time. I miss him even as a familiar hand claims me. I lock away the feelings; new masters need not know about the old ones._

_Though my secrets spill free when my sisters and I are joined and our master notes them with some curiosity._

_I like to believe that I helped influence our master to show my old master, Dee is his name, mercy._


	53. How Many Times Have I told You to Be More Careful, Machiabilly

“Billy you are slowly shaving years off my eternal life.”

The outlaw laughed. “Oh no, poor baby.”

Machiavelli huffed, pulling out gauze. “How did this even happen?”

“Oh me and Scatty were out doing some light sparring.”

“Light? You have a broken nose!”

Blood rushed to Billy’s face. “The sparring only caused a bit of bruising. I, uh, tripped down some concrete steps….” He plucked the gauze from the Italian’s stunned hand and started packing it in his bleeding nose.

“Is it the same steps you nearly broke your neck on last time?”

“…maybe….”

Machiavelli nodded with a look of disappointment. “How many times have I told you to be more careful?”

“Mac, it’s not like I’m gonna die! I’m especially not going to die on some stairs!”

“I apologize for caring about you. I don’t enjoy seeing you hurt.”

Billy bit his lip. “I’m sorry, but you kinda worry too much.”

Machiavelli looked unamused.

“Okay! Okay! I’m be more careful on those evil stairs.”

Machivelli smirked. “That’s better.”


	54. You're Saying This Was An Accident?, Dee/Nicholas/Machiavelli

“You’re saying this was an accident?” Nicholas questioned, standing tall with his arms crossed over his chest. He felt like a parent and he shouldn’t feel that way standing in front of two grown men that weren’t his children.

Machiavelli wiped some blood from his nose with a handkerchief. “Of course.” His shirt was ripped open and his chest already showed signs of bruising.

Nick raised an eyebrow and looked at Dee. A thin stream of blood had started to dry on his chin; a bloody tooth laid on the floor. One of his eyes had started to mottle. He also remained petulantly silent.

“Accident?”

Niccolò nodded the best he could with his head tilted back, kerchief pressed to his bleeding nose.

“Then why do I smell both rotten eggs and serpent?”

John shrugged with a wince. 

Flamel tossed up his hands. “Fine. I’m not your dad, though I’m old enough. I’m leaving.”

“Nico started it.” Dee murmured, unsure as to why Nicholas’ words caused that to come out.

Machiavelli gaped. “How did I start it?”

“Why did you buy Virginia!” Dee snapped.

“You were about to have a monopoly on light purple! I landed there, what else did you want me to do?”

“Not be a dick!”

Nicholas became aware of the broken table in the middle of the room. Plastic houses and cards were scatter across the floor. Oh….

The Italian pulled the tissue from his face and turned to glare at Dee. “So you wanted me to roll over and let you win?” He scoffed. “That’s the only way you could win, I suppose.”

The scent of sulfur filled the room as Dee’s aura flickered back to life. “I could destroy you at Monopoly.”

Dirty white tendrils raised from Machiavelli’s skin. “Then don’t bitch when I actually play the game!”

“You had all four railroads! And almost all of orange! You couldn’t let me have Virginia?”

“No!” Niccolò snapped with a laugh. “I have my ruthless reputation for a reason, English boy!”

Nicholas watched the shouting match and considered doing something. Considered. Both parties had murder in their eyes and he was far too old for this.

He left the room very quietly.

He did help patch them up afterward, though, as they somehow managed to drain their auras.


	55. I Won't Let You Be On You Own Not When You're Like This, Machiavelli/Dagon

Machiavelli limped to his bathroom, using the wall as support despite Dagon being right behind him. Dagon frowned at the bloody hand-prints now adorning the wall.

“Sir?”

Machiavelli ignored him and turned on the sink. He grabbed the white hand towel and soaked it. Once soaked, he used it to wash off the practical river of blood that went from under his nose to below his chin. Dagon heaved a mental huff. 

“May I ask what happened?”

Niccolò finished cleaning the partially dried blood before knocking off the scraps that remained of his dress shirt. Blood and bruises hid most of the injuries, but a few angry welts and gashes were visible. He shuffled to the bathtub and started running a bath. “You can leave at anytime.”

Dagon sighed. “Sir, if it’s not rude of me-”

“It is. Leave me alone.” He removed his shoes and pulled off his pants with as little torso movement he could manage. Dagon could see a few scraps and light bruises, but it seemed his boss’s legs were relatively unharmed.

“I’m not leaving you alone, sir. Particularly with you in this state.”

Machiavelli stepped into the tub and sank into the water with a gasp of both pain and relief. The water turned a muted red almost as soon as his torso hit it. Dagon left and came back with a bowl of soapy water and a washcloth. 

He removed and folded his own shirt before kneeling by the tub. He started washing what ever part of Niccolò was not underwater. “This is too vicious to be Dee.”

A grunt was all he received in response.

“Assignment or Elder?”

Machiavelli flinched. “Please leave.”

“Not until you’re actually clean and bandaged.” He reached in and unplugged the drain and pulled down the shower head. The water needed to look like water, not blood. “Though you are not obligated to answer me.” He hummed as he cleaned and Niccolò found comfort in it even through the burn of failure.


	56. How Many Of Them Were There?, Dee/Virginia

“Virginia?”

“Hm?”

“How many of the giant spiders were there?”

Virginia pursed her lips, thinking as she stitched up a gash on her arm. “Well there were a handful of those smaller bitey-slashy ones.”

Dee rinsed a burned part of his arm in the sink before wrapping his arm with gauze. “At least two of the acid-spitting ones.”

He walked back over to her and helped with finishing off the stitch. Virginia smiled and stood to peck his unbruised cheek. “I think there were three jumping ones. Why do you need to know?”

John waved a hand, noting the soreness in his arm and shoulder with annoyance. “Oh I’m going to have to make a report tomorrow with the delivery of the artifact.”

“Can’t be inaccurate, now can we?”

“The Dark Elders tend not to appreciate it. But they can be dense, so I’ll make up some numbers.”

“Well then make sure not to forget the Den Mother that we may have murdered.”

“I’m sure she’s fine." 


	57. Let Me Kiss It Better, Dee/Nicholas

Tears stung at Dee’s eyes as he stared at the broken glass and escaping liquid. Blood dripped from a gash in his cheek, but he barely noticed it. 

Nicholas laughed beside him. “Unexpected, but we can deal with this. Right, John?” He looked over at his apprentice and his face fell. “John, it’s okay. You just pushed a little too much power in.”

“I apologize. I can purchase a replacement if-.”

“Nonsense!” Nicholas interjected with a sweeping hand gesture and a smile. “You’re still learning and I needed to replace that anyway.”

Dee looked up. “Well, I’ll clean the mess then.”

“I expected that but first,” he over and kissed the cut on Dee’s cheek. He always wanted to kiss something better and Perenelle healed any small injuries instantly just to tease him.

Dee felt his brain stall. Yes, he could smell the barest essence of mint (probably because all of his superhuman senses suddenly decided to activate), but those were still Nick’s lips. On his cheek. Holy shit. Blood rushed to his face.

Nick pulled back and admired his handiwork before licking his thumb and wiping the dried blood off.

John came to his senses with that and swatted at Nicholas’ hand. “Stop bathing me like a cat and pass me a rag.”

Nick chuckled and passed the rag over. “You are the bossiest apprentice I’ve ever met.”

“I feel so special." 


	58. I Won't Let You Be On You Own Not When You're Like This, Machiavelli/Dee

Machiavelli collapsed and rested against the hidden enclave wall. Blood oozed from his nose and mouth, among other places. Dee braced himself on his knees, chest heaving but in much better shape than his companion.

After a few moments, John straightened. “Okay. Come on, Nico.”

Machiavelli huffed out a laugh and droplets of blood. “Can’t.”

Dee opened his mouth in protest but stopped when he finally processed the injuries. Whatever part of Niccolò’s shirt and pants that wasn’t torn was caked in dust, sweat, and blood. An arrow was poking through his shoulder, his nose was definitely broken, and that was only the stuff Dee could see.

“Repair enough of it with your aura so you can leave and we’ll the get the rest later.”

“I threw a D&D level fireball in there,” Machiavelli pointed best he could in the general direction of where they had just been. He coughed and there was a splat of something wet hitting the stones. “Then I covered you. I barely have enough aura to not combust.”

Dee shook his head and crouched beside the Italian. “Then I’ll-!”

“You do that, you’ll be unable to leave yourself.” Another cough. “Go.”

Pounding footsteps and shouts echoed down the corridor.

“Leave me, John.”

Dee clenched his hands into fists. “I won’t let you be on your own, not like this.”

Machiavelli bared his teeth and went to grab Dee’s collar but was stopped short by a coughing fit. “Leave me… you idiot….” He wheezed, feeble, dirty white sparks warding off Dee’s hands.

“Like hell, Nico.” Dee ignored the sparks, which only felt like pinpricks, and went to wrap Niccolò’s arm around his neck.

Machiavelli groaned. Dee was going to get himself killed doing this. Fine, he could break this stubbornness easily. “Your best move is to leave me.”

“No it isn’t.” John tried to figure out how he was going to pick his friend up.

“You want a throne,” he continued with a cough. “You won’t get it if I’m alive.”

Dee ignored him, scooping his legs up. Machiavelli bit back a shout of pain. The pounding feet and voices drew closer.

“I will… steal it… from under… your nose.” He wheezed. “That’s my game. Dark Elders… take power… power struggle… I dispose… of you.”

Dee stood with a grunt. “You’re bluffing.”

“I wrote  _The Prince,_  John.” Another coughing fit wracked his frame. “Do you… think I’m… bluffing?”

“Even if you’re not I’m still not leaving you.” John smirked. “I would kick your ass in a power struggle, anyway.”

“Goddammit, John!” Machiavelli snapped, resisting a cough to continue. “I want you to get out of this alive! You are a greedy, ambitious bastard! Don’t embrace your humanity now!” Dee walked out and started rushing down the hall, still carrying the Italian and painfully aware of how close their pursuers were.

He could hear the coughing and, if he had looked down, he would’ve seen blood spray with every heave, but he would’ve also seen tears start to stream down Machiavelli’s cheeks.

They were both incredibly surprised that they managed to make it out and leave alive.


	59. Let's Get You To Bed, Dee/Excalibur

Dee went to put Excalibur back where its case, and found his hand unable to open. No amount of prying at his fingers changed anything.

He groaned. The sword was trapping him for what seemed to be no purpose whatsoever and he didn’t have the strength left to resist. “I have reports to write, orbs to package….” A bolt of agonizing cold shot up his arm.

“What the hell?!” He sensed the huff Excalibur wanted to make. God, he needed to work on having mental walls while drained. Oh well, while the floodgates were open….

He screamed back at the sword to let him go. Excalibur sent a wall of exhaustion in response.

“I hate you.” He muttered with a yawn. “Can’t sleep yet.” Another bolt shot up his his arm alongside a more intense fatigue.

“I can’t believe a just lost an argument with a sword….” With his admission of defeat, Dee’s fingers relaxed and he was able to put the sword up.

Yawning, he shuffled to his bed and flopped into it. ’ _Fucking sword and its fucking manipulation.’_


	60. Let's Get You To Bed, Dee/Virginia

“Just push it in, Dee.”

“Virginia, I am not a doctor. I have a doctorate, I am not-!”

“Relocate my goddamn shoulder, you big baby.”

Dee made a couple of mocking noises before pushing Virginia’s arm back into socket. 

“Was that so hard?” Sage filled the air as Virginia started rapid repair on her most serious injuries.

“What did you even get into?” Dee lent his aura to help the process.

“Well there was a shaman necromancer and his army of undead. Which sucked a lot.”

John huffed. “That’s the fifth one. I’m teaching you how counter necromancers.”

“So how to beat you?”

“I have far more tricks up my sleeve. You’ll have to try harder than a distraction and a rebinding spell.”

“ _Re_ binding? No thank you, I can handle myself.”

“I can also teach an unbinding one if you really don’t want an undead horde. But let’s get you to bed first.”

“Looking forward to my lesson.” She snickered as an idea hit. “What happens if I’m naughty during class?”

John smirked, helping her from her chair. “Try it and find out, my dear.”


	61. Nicholas/Dee Porn

_A beaker of water shattered on the floor as Dee found himself shoved against a table. “Sir, I’m-!” He started to stutter, turning from the mess toward Nicholas and finding his lips captured._

_His arms flailed beside him and his back stiffened. What was happening? One moment they were working and the next…. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity. John relaxed, wrapping his arms around Nick’s neck. He parted his lips to welcome his mentor’s skilled tongue._

_Nicholas’ hands snaked around Dee’s waist, drawing him flush against his body. Dee broke the kiss for a gasp. Nick moved and started nibbling at John’s neck as he started grinding his hips into Dee’s._

_“N-Nicholas, s-sir!” Dee protested, albeit in a half-hearted manner, while trying to dull his senses enough to keep Nick’s grazing teeth from being so distracting. “This isn’t… you- you’re married!”_

_Nicholas hummed against Dee’s neck. “And do you know who isn’t home?” He grabbed the bottom of Dee’s shirt and started pulling it off. John let him._

_“Absolutely stunning.” His hands ran up and down Dee’s torso, nails barely scraping the skin. “Breathtaking.”_

_Goosebumps raced along John’s skin despite the flood of heat in his veins._

_Nick smirked as he took note of the bulge in Dee’s trousers. “Excited, are we?” He started to palm Dee through his pants, tutting as he saw Dee bite his lip to hold back noises. “I want to hear those beautiful noises, John.”_

_After a moment, Dee let a tentative moan slip out. When he was not immediately struck down with lightning, he grew a bit louder and more confident._

_“Good boy.” Nick kissed his cheek. “Now what do_ you  _want?”_

_The words tumbled from his lips without his permission. “P-please fuck me, s-sir.”_

_“That can be arranged.” Nicholas flipped John around. “I miss seeing your cute face, but,” he tugged John’s pants down. “I appreciate this new view.”_

_Dee shivered as more cool air met his skin. After what seemed like an eternity to him, a slick finger slid into his ass; a little too easily, Dee noted with a blush. Nick chuckled behind him, easing a second finger in._

_“You touch yourself, don’t you?” John opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by a moan. Nicholas worked his fingers and bent forward to suck and bite Dee’s collar._

_“Do you think about me, John?”_

_“Y-yes.”_

_It seemed Nick rewarded the honesty with a brush of Dee’s prostate and gave a pleased hum at the gasp it elicited. “What do you fantasize about me?”_

_“I-I have s-s-so many f-fanta-tasies.” Dee gasped and reached down to stroke himself, but found Nicholas had beat him there._

_“What’s your favorite?” Nick gave John’s cock light, teasing strokes._

_Dee found it hard for both his brain and mouth to work for a moment. “Uh… you’re s-slow, g-gentle.” He groaned. “Gi-give me light k-k-kisses and s-say you l-l-love me.”_

_“You are so good, John. The best apprentice that I could ask for.” Nicholas removed his fingers and Dee whined at the emptiness. Nick peppered John’s neck with feathery kisses while he slicked himself._

_Dee felt the barest touch of something at his ass._

_“I love you.”_

Dee woke with a shout. Once he recovered his senses, he realized he’d been rutting into his bed for God knows how long.

Fuck. He just woke up and he was already sticky and gross.

He went to run a shower and refused to think about what the dream meant so long after his apprenticeship. 

 


	62. Dagon Coming Home, Machiavelli/Dagon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not from a prompt, but w/e

It was nothing short of a miracle that Machiavelli made it all the way from Alcatraz to his kitchen table back in Paris without falling apart; although he nearly broke when he was back in Paris and was getting ready to call Dagon.

He collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs and tried not to come apart all at once. He needed a cigarette, if only to have something other than the scent of blood in his nose. A sob tore from his throat, effectively rooting him to the spot.

This was why he stopped seeing people as individuals, this was why he detached. Guilt burned in his gut. He could’ve… if only he pushed faster. Why was he the one who made it out alive? 

His whole body shook with the force of his tears. The sound of approaching footsteps was lost on him.

A damp hand fell on his shoulder. “Sir?"   
Niccolò stiffened, instantly recognizing that liquid voice. "Dagon….” He tried to swallow the lump in his throat and pull his mask back together. “You owe me nothing… go home.” His voice trembled on every word and he hated it.

Dagon gave a nervous burble. “I am home.”

It was sweet. It was nice. It was endearing. It broke the last modicum of his will and brought a fresh flood of tears.

Dagon scooped Machiavelli up from the chair and nuzzled his tear streaked cheek. The Italian barely registered being moved; he just appreciated a solid weight against him.

“What do I keep telling you, you need sleep to live.” Dagon wasn’t surprised when he only got choked sobs in response. He carried his ex-boss to the bedroom and set him on the bed. He slid in right behind and let Niccolò curl into his chest.

Songs he remembered from his childhood oozed from his lips in what Machiavelli always likened to whale song.

Dagon continued singing even after Machiavelli cried himself out and fell asleep in exhaustion.


	63. AU Where Dee's Batshit Coatlicue Plan Worked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also not a prompt but w/e

Dee grinned, gaze sweeping over the ruins of the once bustling city of San Francisco. It had been quite a few years since Coatlicue started ravaging Shadowrealms and it was likely she would still be going for a number of years into the future.

He turned and, not for the first time, addressed the perfectly preserved corpses of Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel. They were both encased in separate boxes of glass. They were both supposed to be dust by now, but Dee was nothing if not resourceful.

“Did you know that today is the 10th anniversary of my conquering of this planet? Shame, I should’ve had Virginia killed today instead of a few months back.” He considered reanimating the corpses like he was wont to do when he was bored, but he became aware of another presence in the room.

Pale yellow dripped from Dee’s body and sulfur tinged the air.

“Show yourself and I may grant you mercifully quick death.”

“Do not make idle threats, John.”

The voice had come from behind. Dee let his aura dribble toward the floor; once it hit, his options were far more plentiful. Just before a droplet of yellow touched the floor there was a snap and his aura died. John turned on a dime, pulling Clarent and Excalibur from their sheaths at his side as he spun.

He bared his teeth and scanned for any signs of the intruder. Clarent and Excalibur remained quiet in his grip and he tried not to let the worry show on his face.

A figure stepped out from the shadows and Dee sucked in a breath. The man was covered with a grey, woolen cloak with the hood pulled on. A mask obscured the stranger’s face, but it seemed to be made from the same materials as a two-way mirror.

“Marethyu,” Dee said, lips quirking into a smile. “Come to see the rightful king of this world?”

A laugh echoed from behind the mask. “You are many things, but a king is not one. And I’ve been called the Devil in my life but,” his hands emerged from the cloak. “I am not Death.”

John’s face dropped. Two tanned hands with impeccable nails. Less than 1% of the world’s population survived the destruction, where did this man get a manicure? “Who are you?”

The stranger ignored him. “It’s a shame really, you wanted a kingdom so badly.” He tsk’d and shook his head.

“I have one, if you haven’t noticed.”

“You have no population to rule. You’ve simply gained a planet’s worth of ruined real estate.”

Dee sniffed. “It works.”

“Whatever you say,” the figure replied with a shrug.

John tapped his foot and considered darting forward to strike down this man where he stood. “What do you want?” He wasn’t bargaining, just curious.

Another laugh came from the mask, though this time it was bitter and angry. “What do I want? The job that I’ve been doing my whole life, but you’ve destroyed everything having to do with it.”

Dee snorted. This was an ex-employee of Enoch Enterprises who went mad. His muscles barely twitched before he lunged forward. He kept Clarent low to guard and swung with Excalibur. 

The barest hint of sulfur hit the air and Dee froze in place. Excalibur and Clarent were a hair’s breadth from touching the cloak. Despite all his mental struggling, he remained locked in place and the figure glided back almost casually.

“Could never let someone else finish, could you? And have you not caught on yet as to who I am?” The man shrugged and started removing the cloak. “Must be all the drama, that really was more your forte. I preferred quiet." 

The cloak parted to reveal a slender man in a miraculously pristine suit. Dee’s expression remained blank, still not recognizing the stranger.

"Nothing?” The figure huffed. “You’ve gotten slow in your old age, John. I’m disappointed.” He reached for the mask and Dee’s muscles began to relax. His aura finally bloomed again as the man’s mask slid off.

Dee grinned and Clarent and Excalibur sang in his grip. Incantations raced through his re-energized brain and his aura burned brighter to match. The stink of sulfur coated every square inch of the room. A gruesome spell came to the forefront of his thoughts and he laughed as he mentally prepared it.

He stopped the moment the mask shattered on the floor.

“Machiavelli,” Dee breathed. “But you….” Last he heard, the sphinx ate him after licking Billy the Kid’s bones clean.

“Imagine an immortal faking their own death. Unbelievable.” Niccolò drawled, sarcasm thick in his voice. “You know, the last time I ended up in a position like this, I wrote a book. I think this will be far more effective.”

Dee cackled, shock forgotten. Clarent and Excalibur screamed in his hands, their tendrils of red and blue being swallowed by yellow. “Your trick wore of, Italian. I will beat you!”

“Are you sure?” Dee swore he saw Machiavelli smirk, but it was hard to tell with the yellow smoke coating his vision. 

John opened his mouth to retort, but the scent of sulfur clogged his nostrils and choked him. It even seemed to coat his tongue and he started to wish he picked something more pleasant. He couldn’t see through the undulating cloud of yellow in his face and he was only barely aware Clarent and Excalibur were searing his flesh. The sound of Machiavelli’s voice was muffled.

“I have to say, John, pissing off the person who knows how auras work was a horrible idea.”

Dee couldn’t muster the strength to even think of a reply, let alone say one. Every breath hurt and choked him. There was a dull ache in his right side; he must’ve hit the floor. 

He was going to die and he was too drained to be scared.

“Goodbye, John. I’m sure we’ll meet again once I help humanity put civilization back together. Well, if the Christians were right.”

Then, he had to bring up an aura shield as Dee’s own aura flashed. For the barest of moments it was gold, before it devoured him. When Machiavelli dropped his guard only a pile of ash remained where John had lain, Clarent and Excalibur framing it.

Smoky off-white strands curled from Machiavelli’s hands and he panted from the effort of what he’d just done. He stepped on the shattered remnants of the mask as he grabbed the cloak and shrugged it back on. He went to collect the fallen Swords of Power. The moment his fingers brushed the stone his aura drifted alight and in the light it appeared silver.


	64. Josh Joins Dee and Machiavelli Following Bullshit Coatlicue Plan

Josh doesn’t have his first doubt until blood runs down Clarent’s blade in thin rivulets. He doesn’t doubt until Clarent is sated and silent. He doesn’t doubt until he’s staring at the corpse that used to be his sister. Clarent nearly slips from his grasp as he starts to process what he’s just done.

Machiavelli is quick to slide to Josh’s side.

“Can I still leave?” Josh questions, voice small. “I can still go back, right?”

“No. You’ve made a decision that is rather irreversible, I’m afraid.” The Italian’s voice is soft and it almost seems like he shares the same regrets. A tear slides down Josh’s cheek and Machiavelli kisses it away. “You can never go back, but you have the power to change all of this if you wanted.”

The image of the Serpent of Eden tempting Eve comes into Josh’s head. Dee sweeps into the room, a grin splitting his face. Josh thinks of Lucifer.

But weren’t the Serpent and the Devil one and the same?

Dee strides over and crouches by Sophie’s body. His fingers trace the charred edges of the single chest wound. “Efficient. Straight in between the ribs. I’m impressed.” He stands and looks at Josh, eyes gleaming with pride. “You did good work.”

Dee presses himself against Josh. Josh notices that Machiavelli immediately pulls away and picks up the corpse.

Josh opens his mouth to protest; that was his sister, he would handle her body. Dee’s voice is a bare whisper by his ear. “How did that feel, Josh? How delicious were the Witch’s memories?” His hand wraps around Josh’s, forcing the boy’s hand closed around Clarent.

Flickers of the Witch’s memories dance behind Josh’s eyelids with every blink. The knowledge was wonderful, amazing. Why had Sophie ever been scared of this? He glances at the blood rapidly drying on Clarent and remembers the thrill of sliding the blade through flesh. He remembers the scent of burning skin and muscle. The scent of oranges fills the air as Josh’s aura pops alight.

It was so swift, so easy.  
She didn’t even have time to scream.

Dee grins as he watches flecks of crimson appear in Josh’s eyes and aura. 

 


	65. Josh Joins Dee and Machiavelli Following Bullshit Coatlicue Plan And Everything Has Gone To Shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of previous fic

Dee regretted very little of his life. But as Clarent screamed off Excalibur, he regretted letting Josh keep Clarent.

The boy’s aura blazed around him, though the pure gold was now streaked with crimson and the scent of oranges was tainted with the barest hints of rotting flesh. His eyes were wide and crazed, irises scarlet. Dark circles betrayed his recent lack of sleep.

Dee’s muscles strained against the onslaught. Even with Excalibur’s assistance, his reactions were slowing down by dangerous fractions of seconds. Josh lunged and Dee went to parry.

And missed.

Clarent sang as it pierced his stomach all the way through. Smoke curled from the wound and Dee coughed up blood and ash. Excalibur clattered to the floor.

Josh grabbed Dee’s shoulder, forcing the magician to remain standing when his knees buckled. “I don’t like being used.” Josh snarled. “Or being betrayed." 

Betrayed? The literal burning of his gut put his mind in a fog. He hadn’t… he wasn’t…. "J-Josh… I-I wa-wasn’t….” The boy’s aura flared up and bits of flame flickered from John’s stomach.

“You were!” Josh screamed. “You were! I got a planet and you were going to kill me to get it! I won’t let you! I won’t let anybody!”

Letting him keep Clarent was a bad idea. His worst idea. Dee’s eye clouded and Josh finally let him slide off the blade. He was dust before he hit the ground.

Sharp footsteps announced a newcomer.

“Happy?” The newcomer said in Italian. “No, I suppose you would be more satisfied. You can’t be happy with Clarent.”

Machiavelli strode closer to Josh, face impassive.

Josh bared his teeth and scooped up Excalibur. He tossed it at the Italian, who caught it despite looking somewhere else.

Blue sparks danced around the blade and Machiavelli’s aura drifted alight, but the blade remained silent. It could offer him nothing.

“You just want to kill me. Why even provide a weapon?”

“I like you enough to give you a chance, Mac.”

Niccolò’s lip curled up in disgust. “Don’t call me that. If you want me dead, at least grant me my full name.”

Josh rushed forward and Excalibur moved to block on its own. 

“You’ve been lying to me! You’ve just been waiting to stab me in the back!” Josh continued slashing and Excalibur kept moving to protect its new master.

Machiavelli sneered. “Of course! You should be dead right now; I’m not blind to madness. Unfortunately, Dee wanted you alive. Started thinking of you as a son apparently.” Excalibur miscalculated a blow and Clarent sliced Machiavelli’s side.

“Liar!” The scent of rotting meat intensified and Josh’s gold aura was being rapidly eaten by scarlet.

“What do I have to lie about, Josh? Dee is already dead. And,” he forced Excalibur down. “So am I.” The boy swung and Clarent buried itself deep in Machiavelli’s side, stopping right against the Italian’s spine.

“But… I’m a bastard.” He choked out and grabbed Josh’s arm. The scent of snake flooded the room and Josh’s aura died. His gripped on Clarent relaxed. Machiavelli fell to his knees.

Josh stumbled back, eyes wide in horror. Blood coated his hands. When did…? “Oh my God, Machiavelli…. I… oh God.” This wasn’t fun anymore. He couldn’t remember why he had ever felt satisfaction at killing. Sophie… he had killed… and hadn’t even blinked. “Heal yourself!” He shouted, fat, gold tears rolling down his cheeks.

Machiavelli grabbed Clarent’s hilt and let his aura blaze. Fire licked from the blade and along his skin. “No.” He gave a full-toothed, bloody smile. Ash mixed with sweat and tears dribbled down his chin. “ _Arrivederci._ ” Flames of grey and deep red consumed him all at once.

As the dust settled, Josh’s aura flickered back to life and he immediately grabbed Clarent.

Then dropped it.

The image of Sophie mixed with some other woman ( _Marietta…_ ) screaming at him swam in his head. 

_“You will die lonely and alone, because you don’t care for anyone!”_

 


	66. Josh, Dee, and Machiavelli Fight Tsagaglalal

Gold, yellow, and white auras were a beacon in the thick fog. The full moon overhead did it’s best to help with visibility. Sparks of red danced around the gold light and a singing scream filled the air.

Tsagaglalal whirled her khopesh. “I’m disappointed, Josh.” She absentmindedly touched the emerald tablet in the sack by her side. “I thought I helped raise you better than this.”

“I don’t know you.” Josh shouted.

She ignore him, having already withdrawn all investment in the boy. “Machiavelli, I know you’re there. Your motives are still unreadable; you have a choice.”

Josh and Dee shot a glance behind them, swords poised in warning.

The Italian laughed. “Do I really?” He caught the tablet that sailed through the air with deft fingers.

“My husband hadn’t intended to write anything to you. But someone saw this thread and insisted he do so.”

The whistling wind was the only sound as Machiavelli read. The cracking of emerald on pavement was heard a moment later.

“Your husband was wrong. I’m afraid.” His voice was choked with some sort of emotion, but it rapidly smoothed out. “ _Arrivederci,_ She Who Watches.”

“ _Arrivederci_.” A jasmine-scented wind cut through the fog. Josh and Dee braced themselves, Clarent and Excalibur poised in front them. Machiavelli dropped to his knees, fingers spread on the asphalt. One hand drew symbols by his side and he didn’t seem bothered by the howling wind.

“What hope do you have against me?” Tsagaglalal shouted above the wind. “I am Tsagaglalal, She Who Watches!” She tapped her foot and the ground started shaking violently. Josh dug his heels in and his aura formed into a suit of armor somewhat similar to Tsagaglalal’s.

He lunged forward, Clarent shrieking. His foot touched the ground. And sank into mud. Josh glanced around. Dee was having trouble with the wind and was sinking himself. Machiavelli was actually smiling as he sank.

Josh bared his teeth and let Clarent warm his aura. The mud cracked and he pulled free and started to run toward Tsagaglalal. When he got close enough, he swung with Clarent. Her khopesh neatly blocked the blade.

“You are untrained and clumsy. Try again.”

Dee gave up trying to get out by mundane means and froze the mud. He followed Josh’s lead. 

The mud was up to the middle of Machiavelli’s forearm and he didn’t seem inclined to pull himself free.

Dee lunged at Tsagaglalal and she smiled a little. She caught Josh under the chin with an elbow strike before trading her blade to her other hand to block Excalibur. Josh picked himself up from the ground and leapt forward. He slammed into a solid pillar of air and was thrown back.

With Josh taken care of, Tsagaglalal focused all of her attention on Dee. Dee found that this did not bode well for him. She was fast and had no style that he could read.

“Nico! You fucking bastard, do something!” He barely blocked a slice at his throat.

The mud was nearing his shoulder. Machiavelli gasped in triumph. Snake filled the air and jasmine left it with a pop.

Tsagaglalal blinked in surprise; Dee and Josh took their chance. They both sprang at the woman, blades singing in the air. Clarent and Excalibur sang in satisfaction as they broke the ceramic armor and plunged through flesh.

Ice spread along her stomach and fire ran along her throat. Dust rushed up into the air in streams and soon Tsagaglalal was no more. Dee and Josh grinned at each other, enjoying the memories they just received.

Josh’s face dropped suddenly and he practically sprinted toward Machiavelli.

The Italian pulled himself free of the drying mud just in time to get smacked in the face by Clarent’s pommel. Machiavelli spat a molar and a few drops of blood onto the pavement. “May I ask why you did that?”

“That was dishonorable!” Josh snapped, eyes crimson.

Machiavelli stood and pulled himself to full height. “And your point is?”

“You shouldn’t have done that! We could’ve taken her, especially if you actually fought too!” Gold speckled with scarlet blazed around Josh.

Machiavelli stared down at the snarling child, face uncaring. Snake tinged the air. “There is a reason my aura smells of snake. There was a reason my books were banned by the Pope. There was a reason people called me the Devil.” The Italian seemed to grow taller and Josh felt Clarent go cold in his hand. He suddenly regretted his challenge.

“You would’ve died tonight without my help. If you want to stay alive, I would suggest accepting one of my philosophies: never attempt to win by force what can be won by deception.” He bared his teeth in a smile, canines looking a bit too long and sharp. “Oh but, by all means, be the honorable lion and get killed.”

Dee stared at the scene and knew that it wasn’t Excalibur making him feel cold. Machiavelli could be a right bastard, but he had never seen him so frigid. The man had always been softened by the barest hint of humanity, which made him dangerous in any social setting. John wondered what made Machiavelli rid himself of even that scrap.


	67. Abraham the Mage Utterly Schooling Josh, Dee, and Machiavelli

Machiavelli was the first to stand after falling through they leygate. Dee and Josh stayed on the ground gawking at Danu Talis. 

“So sad to see wonder die. In another life your lack of curiosity would lead you to quite the revelation.” Dee and Josh scrambled up at the voice. Machiavelli inclined his head at the figure.

“Well this is not that life.”

“No, it isn’t.” The tall, ashen-skinned man agreed. “I’m Abraham, and you three aren’t supposed to be here. If nothing else, you’re far too early.”

Josh drew Clarent on impulse and his aura drifted naturally into a suit of armor. He didn’t notice Machiavelli’s sniff of disgust.

Abraham let his own gold aura peel out. “I would say you were getting ahead of yourself, Josh Newman, but I am going to stop you here.”

“You can try!”

“Josh!” Dee reached out to stop Josh from lunging forward, but missed.

“How trained are you, Josh?” The Mage slid neatly to the outside of Josh’s arm. He grabbed the boy’s wrist and, after kicking Josh’s legs out, fluidly flipped him. “Not very, I take it.”

Sulfur flooded the air and Dee strode forward, Excalibur singing in his grip. He hummed the same tune under his breath. “I’m very well trained.”

Machiavelli crouched in the soft grass.

“Oh really?” Abraham shot forward and grabbed the blade with a hand in a golden glove. He caught Dee under the chin with a similarly gloved hand and sent the magician flying into the grass.

Josh stumbled up, but Abraham focused his attention on Machiavelli. He shot a wave of flame at the distracted Italian. At the last second, he realized what was happening and ducked, but the fire raced hot along his back. The scent of burnt flesh filled the clean air.

“I am not stupid, Machiavelli. I know your trick.”

Machiavelli grit his teeth and forced himself to ignore the pain.

Josh crept as silently as he could toward Abraham’s back. The bit of Mars in him snarled at the idea of what he was about to do, but Josh couldn’t discount Machiavelli’s wisdom. He moved to strike.

And found himself impaled on a shimmering gold blade. The grass swished as Clarent fell into it. Josh’s aura flickered and the armor faded. Blood ran down his chin but he couldn’t register it through the agonizing pain racing through every nerve.

Abraham withdrew the auric blade and Josh fell with a finite thud.

Dee had stood just as Josh fell. A scream of anguish tore itself from his throat and his aura raged brighter. Sparks of blue danced off Excalibur and stripes of sapphire appeared in Dee’s aura. He rushed forward.

The Mage dodged and sent the blade under John’s chin and through his skull in one motion. He got rid of the sword and let Dee collapse into dust.

He turned toward Machiavelli, who had finally dulled the pain enough to stand.

“What shall I do with you?”

Machiavelli shrugged with a wince. “You tell me.”

“Not going to try and talk your way out?”

“Frankly, I don’t care enough to.”

Abraham sighed and shook his head. “You could have been such a good man. I would ask what happened to you, but I know.” The gold sword reappeared in his hand. “Kneel and this will be quick.”

Machiavelli knelt. 

Abraham swung.

The Italian’s head lolled on the ground for a moment before it turned to dust.


	68. Meant No Harm, Dee/Machiavelli v2

He didn’t think he hit Machiavelli  _that_  hard. Certainly not hard enough for the man to just crumple onto the ground and remain there groaning.

And they thought he was the drama queen.

“Come on, Nico! Stop being a child and get up, we still have a mission to finish.” Time wasn’t of the essence (hence Dee’s luxury of being able to punch his partner for being stubborn and stupid and frustrating), but Dee wanted to go ahead and get moving just in case.

Machiavelli shifted as if to sit up, but made a pained whine and stopped. Dee was considering grabbing the Italian by his collar and dragging him back to their car when he noticed the blood.

It seeped steadily through Niccolò’s shirt, well away from where Dee punched him. John quirked an eyebrow. This assignment went as smoothly as could be expected; there was no way to be exhausted to the point of being unable to use their aura.

There was a flicker on Machiavelli’s face and Dee couldn’t stop his gasp as the the illusion dropped. The Italian looked like he had been beaten into a pulp.

Machiavelli cursed before managing to make his bruised and bleeding face composed. “First off, if you ask me to just heal I will bring your business and every business you ever plan on running down around your ears.”

Dee nodded, unwilling to be antagonistic for some reason though he did feel a flare of anger directed at whomever beat his rival.

“Secondly, do not try and heal me or I will bring your business and every business you ever plan on running down around your ears.”

“Alright. Why exactly can’t you heal?”

Machiavelli sniffed, which barely came out through his very broken nose. “Apparently Elders hate our ability to instantly heal when they’re punishing us.”

Dee’s anger died and was replaced by a healthy dose of fear. He wasn’t aware that their masters could inhibit their healing. “What did you do?”

“They were very upset that the Cold War did not lead to a nuclear war. Now help me up.”

As Dee pulled Machiavelli to his feet, he wondered exactly what other injuries were underneath his rival’s shirt. As it was, one of them was still bleeding.

“Nico, I-”

“Don’t apologize for punching me; it isn’t your style. I might get the wrong idea.”

Dee rolled his eyes and made like he was going to drop Niccolò.

“Childish as always, John.”


	69. Machiavelli and Dee Fuck Each Other Up While Drunk and Then Work Together

Machiavelli woke up with a pounding headache and an intense desire to vomit. Through the pain and exhaustion, he managed to dredge up enough aura to ease his head and stomach. With those pressing matters attended to, Niccolò focused his attention to the rest of himself. His whole body felt like a giant bruise and something on top of him was agitating his bruised (or broken) ribs.

Muscles protesting the action, he slipped his arms under the warm lump and nudged it off. It hit the floor with a thump and a groan. Machiavelli glanced over and blinked in surprise.

“ _Buongiorno_ , John.” His tongue felt thick in his mouth.

“Fuck off, Nico.” Dee replied and sulfur tinged the air, but the scent had left as suddenly as it had come.

Niccolò pulled every ounce of his will together and sat up. The resulting pain nearly sent him back down. He cursed and started taking stock of his injuries.

His shirt had been ripped open sometime during the previous night, leaving his bruise mottled torso exposed. Other scratches and splotches of dried blood accented the dark purple and blue. He lightly touched his nose and winced. “Broken…” he muttered.

While Machiavelli was examining his injuries, Dee managed to force himself into a sitting position. At least his shirt was intact, but the blood on it and the pain in his torso suggested that he was just as injured as the Italian. His left eye had almost swollen shut. He considered healing it, but it seemed too exhausting.

“Do you remember what the bloody fuck happened?” While he spoke, Dee became aware of the fact that he was missing a tooth. He spat a curse and a little blood.

“Not much,” Niccolò admitted. “I do remember that we were at a seedy fairy bar for some reason.”

Dee cursed again. “Drinking fae booze? We’re lucky we’re not dead.”

“For more than that reason. I have the vague impression of us inciting a riot.”

“How?”

“We started brawling in the middle of the bar, so I’m assuming we hit other people and started a bar fight.”

A check of their hands, blood crusted and swollen, confirmed the fuzzy memory. They sat in silence before Dee posed another, important, question.

“Where are we now?”

Niccolò glanced around. “Seems like our hotel room. We must have left before police were called.” He reached behind him and used the nearby bed to push himself into a standing position. His aged joints and abused flesh protested the whole time.

“John, I hope you’re the one who knows why woke up on the floor.”

Dee forced himself to stand, even now unwilling to be out done. “Probably just passed out. Fae booze is special.”

It was in that moment that they both realized that both of their pants were unbuckled and unzipped and that they felt sticky.

“Shit.” Dee had the sudden urge to puke.  
Niccolò cracked a crooked, red-toothed grin. “I’m just glad we didn’t do something more unfortunate. I call first shower, by the way.”

“An old ass lightweight like you probably soiled themselves too.” Dee retorted. He didn’t feel like arguing about the shower.

“You aren’t exactly a spring chicken yourself, Dee.” Machiavelli teased before dragging himself to the bathroom.

Dee scrounged around for some ice and wrapped it in his shirt before pressing it to his eye.

Was fae booze known for being an aphrodisiac? Dee discarded the question; regular alcohol could have had them crawling over each other just as easily. At least he didn’t actually fuck the Italian; the worst they could have done was give each other hand-jobs.

His stomach flipped at the thought.

Machiavelli came out with a towel around his waist and clothes in tow thirty minutes later. He felt only marginally better. “All yours.” As Dee limped to the shower, Machiavelli started pulling clothes out of his suitcase.

 _‘At least there isn’t an assignment coming up soon.’_  He thought.  _'It will be some time before I can patch myself up.’_

He had just pulled on his pants when his phone buzzed on the nightstand. “Glad I left that here.” Niccolò murmured, recognizing the impossible number of his master.

“ _Buo_ _ngiorno,_ ” he greeted, shrugging on a shirt while his master talked. “Of course, sir.” The words were barely out of his mouth before his master disconnected with a click.

_'Ah fuck.’_

Machiavelli was impeccably dressed by the time Dee left the shower. He sat down on the edge of his bed and started brushing his hair.

“I’m glad you’re sitting down.” Niccolò said, tossing his ruined clothes into a plastic bag. “Because my master called.”

“And?” Dee pulled a ponytail from his bag and tied his hair back. Honestly, he didn’t care; what Niccolò’s master said had nothing to do with him.

“We’ve been called upon to infiltrate and rob a Shadowrealm.”

“We?”

“Your master wants you to come as well. Feel free to call them if you don’t believe me.” Machiavelli added after seeing Dee’s skeptical expression.

Dee shrugged with a wince. “I don’t feel like dealing with them right now.” He groaned. “Rob a Shadowrealm?”

Machiavelli smiled. “It seems the Elder that lived there has abandoned it. They kept an amulet there that our Elders have deemed valuable and so we have to retrieve it.”

“So it’s empty?”

“Should be, save for any objects.”

Dee sighed with relief. “Then the fact we’ve been beaten into a bloody pulp shouldn’t matter. We’ll just go in, grab the amulet, and leave. No trouble.”

—

“I am going to kill both of our masters!” Dee screamed as he sprinted down a hill. “Abandoned my ass!”

Machiavelli wheezed in agreement. He couldn’t run very far or very fast on a good day, let alone bruised and hungover. The arrow in his shoulder wasn’t helping matters much either.

A handful of giant spiders and praying mantises dropped down into the clearing in front of them. They skidded to a halt, auras fizzling uselessly around them. A fresh set of arrows fell from up the hill, clipping their limbs.

Dee wished he had brought Excalibur as a mantis dropped down beside him. He didn’t dodge a swing in time and his side took a solid, slicing hit.

Machiavelli wasn’t fairing much better; he could barely block the blows a spider was throwing.

Niccolò grit his teeth and forced himself to ignore the pain and exhaustion. He let out a guttural, agonized scream as his aura flared.

Dee glanced over and cursed. What did the bastard think he was doing? But as soon as the blaze started, it stopped and Niccolò was back to fending off a spider.

Something grabbed Dee’s hand and pulled him away from the preying mantis. He watched as he peeled away from an exact copy of himself that was barely taking the mantis’ hits. Dee looked back to whomever was dragging him through the enemy riddled clearing to ask what the hell was happening, but the words died in his throat.

“Nico?”

“Illusion.” Machiavelli replied curtly before shushing Dee. Blood leaked from his nose and ears and his expression was pained. Dee lent what he had left of his aura to Machiavelli as they sprinted for the exit of the Shadowrealm.

They left with an audible pop and practically threw themselves into the back of Niccolò’s car. Dagon sped off without comment.

“John, please tell me you have the fucking amulet.” Machiavelli wheezed in the Italian of his youth. He wiped his bleeding nose on his shirtsleeve; the shirt was ruined anyway.

Dee pulled the object in question out of his pocket. “Of course, Nico.”

The Italian let out a sigh that turned into a wet cough.

Dagon finally spoke. “Dr. John Dee, I would suggest coming up with a good reason as to why you let my boss pull whatever stunt he pulled. I would also suggest doing so before we get to his home.”

Dee nodded and Machiavelli snickered before coughing again.

“Do not think you are off the hook, sir. I’m expecting you to tell me why you pulled whatever stupid stunt you pulled.”

“Of course, Dagon.”


	70. Javert Is In The Hospital And Machiavelli And Dagon Worry A Lot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whole Prompt: Person A is in the hospital in critical condition/has passed away and Person B sees them for the first time in x long amount of time at the hospital/at the funeral. -bonus line- "I've always wanted to see you... but never like this..."

Machiavelli would have been the person knocking down nurses left and right, if Dagon hadn’t been the one storming ahead with a look of fierce determination. The police department called barely an hour before their storming of the hospital.

It was just supposed to be a short little ‘infiltrate the fighting ring’ assignment. But no.  
Then Javert found out it was a more magical fighting ring.  
And  _then_  someone had the nerve to kidnap and hold him.

They burst into the hospital room, nurses and doctors insisting they leave and fill out proper paperwork before coming back. Fortunately for the staff, Valjean calmly smoothed everything over before Machiavelli could start threatening people with exile.

Most of the staff left, but a few nurses lingered to keep an eye on things; Javert was barely stable.

Dagon and Niccolò moved to get a closer look at their inspector. He didn’t look anything like the Javert they had seen two weeks prior. This Javert had bandages wrapped around a shaved head, one gauze packed eye, and one eye swollen shut. This Javert was thin and was attached to more machines than Machiavelli cared to name. 

Niccolò grit his teeth and tried not to punch something in frustration. He should have been faster, should have had more men out searching, should have torn the goddamn city apart brick by brick with his own fucking hands. He should have never let Javert do any of this shit in the first place!

The musky scent of serpent tinged the air and Dagon burbled in warning before pressing his head to Niccolò’s. Valjean looked on with an odd combination of empathy and anger thinly veiled in a saint’s calm.

“Injuries?” Machiavelli snapped, finding it impossible to pull his mask together correctly.

Valjean answered before the nurse could. “He has a concussion and a gouged left eye. There are various other broken bones and internal bruising and bleeding.”

“And brands and burns.” One of the nurses piped up. “We’re prepping the OR for the first of his surgeries.”

“Surgeries.” Machiavelli repeated in Italian, clenching his fists. And there was no guarantee that Javert would be fine. He was in no state to use his aura and Machiavelli could do absolutely fuck all with his centuries of magical knowledge in this damn hospital. “I need a cigarette.” He turned left before anyone could say anything. Dagon excused himself and followed his boss.

“Sir.”

“Let me enjoy my fucking cigarette in peace, Dagon.”

“He’s going to be fine.”

“Oh yes,  _fine!”_ Machiavelli swept his hand over his close-cropped white hair. “If I had found him sooner or, better yet, not let him get captured in the first place, I wouldn’t have to accept 'fine’. He would be doing great!”

“Sir…” Dagon whined. “You did everything you could.”

“I didn’t find the actual bastards. Which is my next order of business. The law can go fuck itself; I’m going to pull those wastes of space apart atom by atom when I find them.”

Dagon couldn’t argue with that, though he preferred more actual limb ripping.

Niccolò sighed. “Let me know when he goes in and comes out of surgery, alright?”

“Of course, sir.”

“And…” he hesitated. “Tell Jean I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“Letting this happen.”

Dagon wanted to comment, but decided it would be better not to in this moment. He nodded and re-entered the hospital.


	71. Machiavelli and Dee Have An Epic Tickle Fight

Dee squirmed in his seat, glad that he was talking to his master on the phone and not in person. Still, he found it difficult not to laugh as the sensation of light fingertips danced on his stomach. The musky scent of serpent tinted the air.

Dee turned to glare at Machiavelli, who was sitting calmly poised as if he was doing nothing wrong. Dee bit his lips to hold back laughter and sulfur oozed into the air. 

“Of course, sir, I would be happy to work with Dee on this-,” Machiavelli tensed and arched his spine. “Mission,” he finished with a quaking voice. Dee managed to smirk before being forced to double over as he was further assaulted.

“You have three days.” The line went dead and phone static filled the air.

Machiavelli turned and lunged at Dee, lips cracking into a smile. The chair Dee was sitting on fell over, dumping both men onto the ground. A few moments later laughter bounced through the room as Dee felt Machiavelli’s actual hands on him.

“You bastard!” Niccolò shouted in between giggles.

“You started it!” Dee retorted through his own laughter. He reached up and tickled Machiavelli’s neck, delighting in the way he scrunched up.

“I hate you.”

“You love m-!” Dee was cut off by laughter as Machiavelli untucked Dee’s shirt a blew a raspberry into his soft belly. “N-n-no f-fa-air! I can’t do… do that to y-you, you skin-skinny a-a-asshole!”

They wrestled on the ground, pulling off shoes and socks to get at the other’s feet. Not ones to ignore extra resources, they started nibbling and licking to draw out more giggles and laughs.

After fifteen minutes, their stomachs hurt enough that they stopped and flopped onto each other. 

Dee grinned. “I have to say, that was far more pleasant that getting into a fist fight with you.”

“Far less damaging to our clothes too.” Machiavelli agreed, squashing the temptation to trace designs on Dee’s exposed stomach. “Let’s do this when we just want to fuck with each other like the absolute assholes we are.”

“Save the fist fights for when we’re actually pissed?”

“Makes them more special, don’t you think?”


	72. Lustful Gaze, Machiavelli/Dee

A shock ran through Dee’s back as he slammed into a brick wall of a small alcove. Machiavelli was close behind and squeezed into the same spot. Their breaths came in short gasps and the scent of sulfur and musky serpent lingered in the air. 

Dee glanced over Machiavelli’s bleeding shoulder and noted the tell-tale shimmer of one of the Italian’s illusions. Dee let out a breath of relief as heavy footsteps passed by their hiding spot. “Oh thank God.”

Machiavelli sneered, wiping blood from his nose. “That’s the first time someone’s called me God.”

“Shut up.” Dee retorted, rolling his eyes.

Niccolò smiled before focusing on Dee. “Do you want assistance relocating your shoulder?”

“You want to take care of medical attention right now?” 

Machiavelli already had his hands hovering by Dee’s dislocated shoulder. “Trust me, you want your shoulder relocated as soon as possible. Besides, no one can hear us.” Blood ran from his nose down his lips and chin. “I put in a little extra effort.”

“Fine, if you insist.” Dee felt himself become hyperaware of how close they were as Machiavelli placed his hands on his shoulder.

“Ready?”

“Re- HOLY-!” Dee bit hard on his lip to hold back his cry as his shoulder popped into place. “Dammit, Nico!”

Machiavelli snickered before pain stopped him. “You said you were ready, John.”

“How about I shove that arrow out of your thigh?” Dee threatened.

“Go ahead, but I request that you patch up the wound afterward. This illusion is taking a lot out of me.”

Dee huffed and crouched to get a good angle on the arrow in question. Niccolò preemptively braced himself on one of Dee’s shoulders and the wall. Dee lightly pushed the arrow and was relieved that it actually gave. Machiavelli sucked in a breath above him and his grip on Dee’s shoulder tightened.

“Just do it.” Machiavelli snapped, lapsing into Italian.

“Had to make sure it wasn’t lodged in bone, you impatient bastard!”

“I could have told you that!”

Dee glared up at Machiavelli, grabbing the shaft. He took a breath and shoved the arrow until it broke through the skin and fabric of Machiavelli’s pants. Niccolò remained silent, but he had a death grip on Dee’s shoulder and trembled. Dee pulled off the arrowhead before pulling the shaft back out of the wound. Not missing a beat, he pressed both hands to Niccolò’s thigh and focused on stitching the torn muscles and flesh back together.

Machiavelli broke the tense silence with a gasp. “Oh thank fuck.”

Dee stood up with a crooked grin. “That is not the first time I’ve been called a fuck.”

“Just  _a_  fuck?” Machiavelli blinked in mock surprise. “I didn’t take you for the type.”

“Don’t worry, I could never threaten your whore status.” Dee retorted and glanced around Machiavelli’s shoulder again. “How long do we have to stay in here?”

“This place is crawling with search parties so until a party passes back by here, going back to the central building.”

Dee glanced up at Niccolò and back down to their almost-touching chests and noted, again, how close they were. “That’s a lot of time to kill.”

Blood ran down the side of Machiavelli’s face, but he still twisted his lips into a smirk. “I can’t fuck you and keep the illusion up.”

Blood rushed into Dee’s face, turning him an adorable shade of red. “I’m not obsessed with sex like you are, Mr. Nymphomania!” He blustered, old English accent thickening.

“Actually I would be Mr. Satyriasis, if you wanted to be accurate about your outdated terms.”

“Shut up!”

Machiavelli tapped his chin, pointedly ignoring the blood on it. “It is a shame though, you looked so cute kneeling in front of me.”

“How about you shut up before I take that arrowhead and shove it through your jugular!” Dee snapped, still crimson. “Also I was crouching not kneeling!”

“Still adorable.” Machiavelli sing-songed.


	73. Peaceful Fall, Joan/Saint-Germain

Joan settled into the space between Francis’ left arm and torso, a position they took often if the depressions in their porch couch were any indication. She held her face above her mug of coffee, relishing the contrast of the chilly air and warm steam.

Francis looked down, eyes bright. “You wanna see something cool?” The butterflies on his arms were already flapping impatiently.

Joan smiled. “Save the flash for concerts, darling, the leaves are already ablaze.”

And they were.

Crimson and golden leaves swirled down from high trees; the calmest fire Joan had ever seen. The leaves collected on browning grass, forming a crunchy blanket of lava.

Joan knew that, in a few days, Francis will go out to rake everything into a neat pile just to drag both of them in and she will kiss his cold cheek as the flora fire rains down upon them again.

 


	74. Hold My Hand, Machiavelli/Javert/Dagon

Machines hummed just in the range of human hearing, filling the space between the rhythmic beats of various monitors.  Machiavelli had the vague notion of composing music or poetry, but his brain was filled with the white noise of worry and guilt.

The idea of tears stung his eyes as he reached to caress Javert’s head.  They had shaved his head since his brain had been swelling and they needed to cut into his skull.  The bandages there now were rough on Machiavelli’s fingertips, nothing like the long, silky waves of silver he was used to.

Javert’s face was gaunt and his sideburns had started losing definition due to extra stubble.  The swelling on both of his eyes had gone down over the past few weeks, but that only meant the stitches from surgeries to reset the fractured sockets were that much more obvious.  A breathing tube protruded from Javert’s already abused throat.  It was only one of many tubes attached to the inspector.

Machiavelli let his eyes drift over the comatose Javert, taking stock of the injuries for the hundredth time today.  The mental static grew in volume and gave the illusion of drowning out the incessant beeping and whirring.  His skin itched out of sync with the noise and his feet felt like running.  He could flee this place, abandon the loves of his life, forget humanity, and go back to chess boards and statistics.  He liked that idea; statistics and numbers were impartial. Statistics and numbers couldn’t get addicted to street fighting and end up in a hospital bed.

If that didn’t work, he could always find a nice bridge or high building or sharp blade or strong rope or.... Dagon gave a worried whine that Machiavelli didn’t register until a solid weight pressed against him and a webbed hand wrapped around his.  His other hand trembled, but he steadied it by grabbing Javert’s.  Hot tears started rolling over weeks-old dark circles as he registered the fact this large, work-calloused hand was sitting bandaged and limp in his tight grip.

“Hold my hand,” he begged in archaic Italian. “Just wake up and hold my hand.”

The hand remained still.


	75. "Don’t upset your father, not now." Machiavelli

“Came back home long enough to die? Just like you!”

Marietta was quick to cuff the nearly grown ears of Guido in spite having the same sentiments echo in her heart. “Don’t upset your father, not now.” It was in bad taste to insult the dying.

“He’s only grieving.” Machiavelli croaked. The weight of this elaborate deception suddenly felt real. Unfortunately the nausea and hunger clenching his stomach and the migraine pulsing behind his eyes told him it was too late to back out now.

Was it in bad taste to miss your own funeral?  
Of course he couldn’t care less about whether the faking of his death was tasteful or not.

Society lost its ability to make him care a long time ago.

Machiavelli heard the heartbeats of his children leave the room and let out a breath in relief. Each beat had been making his headache worse. He hoped Aten would at least give him a hint as to turn all of this off.

He glanced to Marietta and saw the muscles of her face twist with the curses she wanted to sling at him. Should he try to make amends? He wasn’t dying tonight, but he was leaving her forever.

“Marietta, darling, I….”

“Don’t. Don’t say anything you wouldn’t say if you were going to be here for another week.”

Machiavelli did his best to ignore the sound of her flinch as he closed his eyes and fell silent.


	76. "You came back!" Machiavelli/Dee

“You came back.”

Sulfur caught the back of Machiavelli’s throat and the source tensed beside him. Despite being well aware that he was treading on impossibly thin ice, Niccolò laughed.

“Do calm down, John. I’m as much on the Dark Elder’s blacklist as you are. More so, likely; everyone thinks you’re very dead.” He finally turned toward Dee and found it almost impossible to keep up his usual facades as he stared at that old familiar face.

And it certainly was old. Not as old as he’d expected after hearing all the stories, but definitely older. John’s face had new wrinkles and his dark hair had lightened drastically, even going white in some places. The joints of his fingers were a bit swollen with arthritis.

“I do not trust you.” Dee replied, still staring ahead. Machiavelli wondered how it could be that Dee still harbored the same resentments and yet he was using every scrap of control to not begin crying.

“Of course not. May I ask how you managed to survive?”

“Funnily enough, Aten gave me my immortality back.” John paused to let that sink in, relishing in the surprise that he assumed was on his rival’s face. In reality, there was no surprise there. “After that, Mare-  _Josh_  was kind enough to direct me to a Shadowrealm where time moved much slower. While there I managed to concoct a few potions to de-age me, but this was as young as I could get before I had to leave. How did you manage to find me?”

“I may be on the run, but I still have eyes and ears everywhere.” Honestly, it was how he had most of the information on what happened on Danu Talis; no one was inclined to tell him anything. Niccolò grinned, though John was still focusing elsewhere. “Besides, I would recognize the scent of a drama queen anywhere.”

Dee snorted. “I guess you’ve gotten used to your own scent then.” He finally turned to look at Machiavelli and furrowed his brow at the amount of barely concealed emotion he could see. Machiavelli was also as about as disheveled looking as a man in an expensive tailor-made suit could look. “You look like hell.”

“You’re no model yourself.” He scrubbed his face. “I am glad you’re alive, John.”

“Did you seriously mi....?” John shook his head. “Nevermind.”

A heavy silence weighed down every breath.

Tears stinging his eyes, Niccolò nodded. “Yes, yes I did.”


	77. The Aftermath (Machiavelli-centric, no explicit ships)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full prompt:
> 
> Maybe some kind of Mac interaction with another character? Billy, Dee. Perenelle, etc. Kinda boring, kinda vague, but I don't know what you like to draw/write, and I think you're creative enough to get something good going!

The war was over and, with a last second change of heart, Niccolò found himself on the winning side. Everything was different and his many of relationships experienced a drastic tone shift. The most stark was

Dee.

Dee didn’t come back. Dee was dead. Dee was ashes and dust in a time long, long, long before his birth. Machiavelli found that Dee’s death struck him far harder than he ever thought it would. He wondered if he was the only one so distraught. 

He supposed he just wanted someone who understood. He just wanted someone who was also completely entangled by the Dark Elders. He just wanted someone who also ruined whole countries because they were an obedient dog. He wanted someone who would understand dealing with the aftermath.

Because

Billy,

Billy would never understand. His lack of magical prowess and knowledge proved the young immortal hadn’t seen many missions. He wasn’t an agent at the center of it all. He wasn’t a mover and shaker. He couldn’t blame himself for much.

At least they were outlaws together. At least they both understood running away and laying low.

Though Niccolò doubted the benefits of hiding together. The cracked, unstable disaster in a sharp suit would be too much for Billy. More often than not it was too much for Niccolò himself. The only person who was able to handle it was

Dagon.

And Dagon was home, but Niccolò was not. 

Dagon had return only a few days after everything was over and had apologized profusely for even that short of an absence. Machiavelli had demanded he go, unable to keep him there in good conscience. The debt had been repaid. Honestly, it had been repaid a hundred times over.

When Dagon refused to leave his friend alone, Machiavelli fled in the middle of night. Dagon needed a house, anyway.

And then there was

Everybody else.

After Alcatraz, he didn’t see anything of Nicholas and Perenelle. He was more glad than he was willing to admit. He could’t bear facing them once everything had settled.

He dug around and eventually found Sophie. He went to her with an offer of financial security and ineffectual apologies. She replied with what happened to Josh.

“He liked you, you know. Said you were the only immortal completely honest with him.”

Niccolò couldn’t resist barking out a bitter laugh at the irony of it all. Him, the dirtiest of politicians, an honest man!

He left before his laughter could become tears.


	78. "Exactly why are you awake?" Machiavelli/Dagon

“Exactly why are you awake, sir?”

Machiavelli continued tapping on the keyboard. “I have work to do. It’s not even that late, Dagon.” His words were gently slurred and in archaic Italian.

“Sir, it is nearly six in the morning.”

Niccolò’s glanced at the clock and blinked languidly in surprise. It couldn’t.... Oh well. “Like I said, not that late. And I just have to finish this report.”

Dagon gave a derisive burble and strolled forward in order to get a better view of the screen. “I fear you stopped writing about the case a long time ago. Unless the case involves analyzing how delicious chocolate is and how much Obi-Wan did not deserve what happened to him.”

“Well it is and he didn’t!” Machiavelli snapped. “And that is just as important as this... murder? Kidnapping?” He scrubbed his face. “I just need a little caffeine....”

Dagon remained quiet, but gently nudged the chair so it spun toward him. Ignoring his boss’ childish whine, he slipped his arms under Niccolò’s legs and back to pick him up. “You need sleep, sir.”

“No I don’t.” Niccolò protested even as he snuggled closer and settled into Dagon’s chest. “’M fine...”

Dagon smiled in response, already hearing soft snores.


	79. The Prayer by Bloc Party (Machiavelli and possibly Aten/Machiavelli if you squint)

“Good evening, ladies, gentlemen, and everyone else.” Machiavelli couldn’t help but grin as the sound of various weapons being pulled into a more useful state filled the room. Particularly since not all of them were trained on his person.

Much to the chagrin of the shapeshifter in the back of the room.

“Now I’m just here to reclaim something of my master’s. Meaning this could be over with no bloodshed. I am certain you won’t miss that scepter for long and I, personally, would love to avoid making a huge mess. This is a rather nice rug.”

The shapeshifter snarled something that became lost as their form became decidedly less humanoid. Machiavelli took a moment to lament the loss of the rug that was not his before the first shots rang out.

-

“Good job today, Niccolò.”

Machiavelli continued dabbing alcohol on the wounds he could reach and tried not to think about how Aten got into his house. Though it was funny how his master only dropped by like this when Dagon wasn’t with him.

“Thank you, sir.”

He resisted flinching as he felt Aten’s hands on his bare shoulders. The scent of frankincense filled the air and Machiavelli set down his alcohol-soaked cloth. He found it somewhat intriguing to watch his flesh knit back together perfectly right next to scars from wounds Aten inflicted.

"Have to take care of such a perfect tool.” Aten said as if to explain his actions.

“Thank you, sir.” Niccolò tried not to smile at the, admittedly dehumanizing, praise. Agents who did good jobs, perfect tools, kept being used. Perfect tools weren’t thrown out. Perfect tools didn’t find themselves out of a job.

Perfect tools didn’t have to desperately claw their way back into favor.


	80. "Just leave me ALONE.", Machiavelli/Dagon/Javert

“Just leave me alone! I am absolutely fine and can handle going to work!” Javert snapped, French taking on the cadence of a much older version. “You are worse than Valjean and I wasn’t aware it was possible to worry more than him!” He made an exasperated gesture with the hand not in a sling, but it was cut short with a pained gasp.

He jerked to cover his side with his left hand and was too focused on swallowing the pain to notice Dagon’s look of concern mixed with ‘I told you so’.

“And if you went to the station like this, with popped stitches, they would not let you do anything. So do sit down, sir, and let Machiavelli and I assess the damage.”

Javert shot a glare at Dagon and began limping away from him, but not out the front door. “I’m not helpless. I can handle fixing my own stitching.”

Niccolò gently bared his path to the bathroom. “Not with a broken arm.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should. It would be better if someone else does it.”

“I just want to do it myself! Besides if you aren’t letting me leave the house, someone needs to go pick up some paperwork for me so I can get _something_ done!” Javert managed to detach his hand from his side to point at Machiavelli. “Last time I checked, you can’t drive _and_  your hands shake worse than a leaf in a wind storm!” 

With that he shoved passed Niccolò to get to the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him.


	81. "Oh fuck, oh FUCK.", Nicholas/Dee

“Oh fuck, oh _fuck_.” Nicholas swore, trying to ignore Dee’s lips on his throat and the way Dee’s beard tickled his skin. “We shouldn’t… Really.”

Dee huffed out a laugh; they’d danced this dance before. “You can tell me to leave anytime, Nicholas. Until such a time, shall we go to the bedroom?” He knew exactly what Nick was going to do. He was going to worry his lip, mention something about Perenelle, and then give in.

True to form, Nicholas began to stutter. “Perry… Perry could come home any minute….” It was a weak lie and Dee knew as much. John led Nick to the bedroom by memory, snickering all the while.

“Last you told me, she was off on a trip for awhile. Which is while you called.“ John couldn’t understand why Nick always insisted on acting like a reluctant party every single time they did this. Did it make him feel better about it? At least he tried to protest?

Nicholas remained quiet, having put up the fight he felt obligated to put up. It didn’t make him feel any better; it just seemed that you were not supposed to feel so great cheating on your wife. Fucking Dee wasn’t supposed to be so amazing.

He didn’t know why it was so much easier to just go behind her back rather than talk to her. They both needed the Codex so it wasn’t like they could really split and part ways, but they probably could have figured something out. Probably still could, but talking was still difficult. But getting caught was becoming a greater and greater risk.

As Nicholas’ back met mattress, he let the worries go. He would deal with it when it all came crashing down around his head and he was forced to.


	82. “Where have you been, I was ready to call the police!” (Machiavelli/Dagon)

“Where have you been, I was ready to call the police!”

Machiavelli attempted to snort, but found it rather impossible with his broken nose. “Dagon, I am the police.”

Dagon’s gills flared in irritation for a brief moment. “Exactly, sir, perhaps then you would have come home. For the first time in weeks!” He snapped, though he strode forward to assess his boss’ injuries.

“I had an assignment, Dagon.” Niccolò winced as Dagon touched his bruised ribs. “I don’t understand why you’re making such a fuss.”

Again, Dagon’s gills flared, but this time his other fins peeled away to emphasize his anger. “You didn’t tell me, _sir_!. Do not expect not to worry when you disappear and don’t tell me where you’re going! We went over this two hundred years ago.” Dagon guided Machiavelli to the couch. “It’s my duty to protect you, sir. I cannot do that if you don’t let me.”

Machiavelli eased down onto the sofa with a heavy sigh. “To be fair, this wasn’t supposed to last so long. A day at most.”

“Clearly you underestimated. And, even if you hadn’t, you should still tell me.”

“I know, Dagon. I’m just....” Niccolò fell silent, gathering his thoughts. “You’re not indebted to me forever and if I can’t get on alone when you leave....”

Dagon’s fins flattened back into his skin. “Sir, I care too much about you to leave. Besides,” he burbled out a chuckle. “You have never been alone in your entire life and your lack of personal care shows it. I would have to be incredibly irresponsible to leave you.”

Niccolò flushed. “I can take care of myself just fine!”

“You went from having a mother to a wife to a butler. And you can barely remember the last time you ate. No you cannot take care of yourself just fine.”


	83. “I can’t even look at you, you promised not to get into any more fights!” (Machiavelli/Javert/Dagon)

“I can’t even look at you, you promised not to get into any more fights!”

Javert continued stuffing tissue in his nose. He only felt the slightest twinge of guilt when the rest of Machiavelli’s tirade became lost on him because it switched from French to archaic Italian.

“I am aware, but they needed me. Besides, I am fine.”

“Needed-?!” Machiavelli squawked, remembering to switch to French. “I highly doubt your department came pleading to the office door of your grey, aged self!”

“I can-!” Javert began, but was cut off by simultaneous glares from Machiavelli and Dagon.

“You volunteered, Javert! After everything that happened, you fucking volunteered!” Dagon reached to lay a comforting hand on Niccolò’s shoulder, but was slapped away. Snake musk oozed through room and the air crackled around Machiavelli.

“You fucking volunteered and your peers let you! Even after you were put into a coma! God’s teeth, I should have the heads of your entire department for this!”

Javert bristled. “I can handle myself! I do not need to be coddled like a child!”

“You clearly cannot handle yourself!”

Dagon stepped in between his lovers, worried that it could come to blows or something equally rash at any moment. “Sir, I will tend to Javert’s wounds. Both of you need to calm down and then we can discuss this with cooler heads.”

“Are you not furious, Dagon?” Machiavelli snapped.

Dagon heaved a watery sigh. “Yes, I am. But _you_ didn’t listen to my concerns about _your_ safety when I yelled at you, so I’ve learned other tactics.”

“Don’t do too good of a job, it only encourages this stupidity,” growled Machiavelli before he stormed off.


	84. “You are small and full of anger.” Machiavelli and Dee

"It is rather amazing how much rage you manage to contain despite being, well, so small.” Machiavelli’s eyes twinkled as Dee, predictably, became even more riled up.

“How about I throttle you!” Dee snapped in accent only slightly outdated.

“Would be surprised if you could even reach my neck, John. Particularly with that terribly broken rib.” It was utterly delightful to rile up the Englishman.

John’s face twisted up. “Your failure should weigh you down enough for me to reach.”

“My failure?!” Machiavelli squawked. “It was your arrogance that very nearly caused both of our deaths. _I_  am the reason you still have a long immortal life ahead of you.”

Dee snorted. “If that helps you sleep at night, Italian.”

“Watch your tongue, I have half a mind to kill you right now. Save someone else the trouble.”

“And have to deal with my master?” Dee replied with all the tone of a child assured that their parent is the strongest and wisest. 

“How utterly naive to think your master actually cares about you. I only regret I will not be there to watch the realization dawn upon you.” Machiavelli shrugged. “I would’ve brought snacks.”


	85. Shooting Star Machiavelli/Dee/Nicholas/Perenelle

There was no cloud in the sky to block a single glittering star. Nor were there any street lamps around to make the distant lights disappear. A chill breeze ghosted over the field, making the grasses dance gently. The near pile of people in the grass huddled ever closer against the cool night air.

They were silent with awe as they stared into the velvet abyss punctuated by the light of ancient stars.

They could all remember a time people were certain the Earth was the center of it all. Center of the solar system, center of the universe. How naive that seemed now. How foolish they had been.

“Do you think we’ll ever get to see the stars up close?” Nicholas asked, somewhat muted by the sheer force of the silence.

“Just have to stay alive long enough, darling.” Perenelle replied, a smile on her lips.

Dee grinned. “Hear that, Nico? You have to stay alive long enough to meet aliens and meddle in their politics!”

“Ah, and I suppose I also have to watch you to make sure you don’t cause one of every natural disaster they have on their planet, then?”

“In Dee’s defense, he didn’t make a volcano erupt.”

“True, that was our wife and I’s doing. But my point still stands.”

Dee gasped in mock hurt. “With all our centuries of working together and years of marriage, you still don’t trust me?”

Machiavelli snorted. “I don’t trust you not to make a mess.”

The conversation between the two devolved into petty, yet playful, squabbling.

“And the night was so peaceful....” Nicholas murmured.

Perenelle leaned over to kiss him. “I don’t know what else you expected to happen, my dear. You married them knowing their... habits.”

“Well if they’re busy with their habits, can we get busy with ours?”

“Why of course!”


	86. Dagon lures Machiavelli to be with Brownies (Machiavelli/Dagon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Full prompt: Dagon attempts to lure his{their} boyfriend to bed with fresh frosted brownies but he{they} still have to carry him to bed. The pretty (pronouns) are because I don't remember if Dagon falls outside of the he/she pronouns or not.
> 
> And then my fucking essay on Fish-folk gender:  
> i mean in canon dagon’s referred to as he, but personally i like to think the fish-folk are an agender species but mac made a lot of assumptions when he met dagon bc of course he did & dagon didn’t bother correcting him bc the pronoun of the fish-folk is p much unpronounceable by humans & well he picked up that italian genders everything sooooooooo
> 
> i also like to think that dagon told mac about fish-folk being agender eventually and mac asked if ‘they’ or something else gender neutral would be better but dagon declined bc i do like the idea of dagon identifying with being male rather than agender bc why not trans dagon

“Sir, come to bed.”

Machiavelli huffed out something mostly unintelligible, partially rude, and continued reading documents pausing only to scrawl out a note or signature.

“Sir.” Dagon pointedly burbled. “You need to sleep.”

“False. I am perfectly fine.”

Dagon’s gills flared in exasperation and he leaned over his boss to carefully pin shut a manila folder. “There’s a fresh brownie on your nightstand and it, along with the rest of the pan, will be gone if you don’t go to bed right now, _sir_.”

Machiavelli shot a tired glare up at Dagon. “I know for a fact you don’t eat chocolate.”

“They will be gone, sir.” Dagon asserted, managing to sound commanding even as he used words of deference.

“It’s _far_. My desk is _right here_. _I’m not even tired_.” The whiny tone Machiavelli used spoke volumes to the contrary. Dagon bent down and deftly scooped his boss up into his arms.

Niccolò said something in protest, but it was lost as he snuggled into Dagon’s chest.

Dagon carried him to the bedroom and set him down on the bed, propping him up on the pillows. Niccolò started easing himself down into a more horizontal position, eyes fluttering shut, but Dagon stopped him.

“Eat first.”

Niccolò turned a blearily eye to the gorgeous brownie sitting on his nightstand. His stomach clenched with hunger but he was _tired_. Dagon picked up the desert and put it into Machiavelli’s hands which seemed to encourage the man to actually eat it.

“You spoil me.” Niccolò murmured, wriggling out of his clothes as he slid down to lay flat.

“I hardly count keeping you alive as _spoiling_  you, sir.”

Dagon’s reply was met with gentle snores.


End file.
